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3fane ( 3 . Austin 

STANDISH OF STAN DISH. A Novel. i6mo, 
$1.25. 

Holiday Edition. With 20 full-page photogravure 
Illustrations. 2 vols. i2mo, $5.00; half polished 
morocco, $8.00. 

BETTY ALDEN. A Novel. i6mo, $1.25; paper, 
50 cents. 

A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN. A Novel. i6mo, 
$1.25 ; paper, 50 cents. 

DR. LE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. A Novel. 
i6mo, $1.25. 

DAVID ALDEN’S DAUG HTER, and other Stories of 
Colonial Days. i6mo, $1.25. 

THE DESMOND HUNDRED. A Novel. i6mo, 
$1.00. 

NANTUCKET SCRAPS. Being the Experiences of 
an Off - Islander In Season and Out of Season. 
i6mo, $1.25. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, 
Boston and New York. 


DR. LeBARON AND HIS 
DAUGHTERS 


A STORY OF THE OLD COLONY 


BY 

JANE G. AUSTIN 

n 

AUTHOR OF “ A NAMELESS NOBLEMAN,” “ STANDISH OF STANDISH,” “ THE 
DESMOND HUNDRED,” “NANTUCKET SCRAPS,” “ MRS. BEAUCHAMP 
BROWN,” ETC., ETC. 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
(j Cfce lutocqsitie prw, ttanifcrtdgt' 

1901 



i 2.2, 


Copyright, 1890, 

Br JANE G. AUSTIN. 

AU rights reserved. 


5^ 




TENTH THOUSAND. 


The Riverside Press, Cambridge , Mass., U. S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Company, 


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OF THE NAME OR LINEAGE OF 

LeBARON, 

THIS STORY IS DEDICATED BY 


THEIR LOVING COUSIN, 


THE AUTHOR. 









A WORD OF EXPLANATION. 


It is with some hesitation that I offer to the public 
this story of Doctor LeBaron, including, as it does, so 
many other of the Old Colony chronicles ; and this, for 
the trite old reason that truth is stranger than fiction, 
and therefore more incredible. It is these incredible 
truths, however, that give its color to the folk-lore of 
any given epoch, and every student of our country’s 
early history has discovered that our forefathers lived 
quite as intensely, if not as scientifically, as we do. They 
had, to be sure, no railway accidents, steamboat explo- 
sions, or “ tramp-wire ” catastrophes, but they supped 
full of horrors in the way of witchcraft, cursing, demo- 
niacal possession, murder, lawless love, and broken 
hearts ; in fact, found in their own surroundings all that 
vital stimulus which we are apt to count as outgrowth of 
our advanced civilization. 

The story of Mother Crewe’s curse, with its results, 
is substantially true, and the scene depicted in chapter 
xliv. is literally so. 

The tragedy embodied in chapter xxiv. is also mat- 
ter of history, and its veracity must apologize for its 
horror. 


VI 


A WORD OF EXPLANATION. 


In fact, there is no memorable incident related in 
these pages that is not matter either of history or well- 
founded tradition in the Old Colony, and though our 
modern taste may revolt at the crude coloring and real- 
istic limning of these pictures of the past, we must 
piously preserve them as the shadows of those who, be- 
ing dead, yet speak, and that in the language of their 
own day rather than ours. 

I also think it right to say that Quasho’s jokes, al- 
though many of them are threadbare now, were posi- 
tively original with him, as authenticated by the family 
of his master. 

In parting, let me thank those friends who have taken 
so gratifying an interest in the story of Standish of 
Standish, and promise them some farther details of his 
life in connection with that of his young friend, Betty 
Ajlden. 

JANE G. AUSTIN. 

Boston, November, 1890. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. “ Don’t be in a Hurry, Widow ” . . . . 1 

II. Silver-Head Tom 8 

III. Bathsheba Crewe’s Lover 18 

IV. Judas 28 

V. The Doctor’s Den 37 

VI. The Lass that loved a Sailor .... 57 

VII. Mother Crewe’s Curse and Elder Faunce’s 

Blessing 65 

VIII. A Life for a Lemon 76 

IX. Quasho’s Calabash 86 

X. Mother Crewe at Work; and how to 

make Cheese-Cakes 93 

XI. Mother Crewe is pleased 101 

v XII. The Course of True Love Ill 

XIII. A Trap 123 

XIV. Lucy Hammatt’s Sufflet 128 

XV. The King is dead ! Long live the King ! . 138 

XVT. Margot 147 

XVII. “Who salted This Pudding?” 155 

XVIII. An Acadian Privateer 165 

XIX. Samson in Petticoats 172 

XX. Philip de Montarnaud 183 

XXI. Naughty Little Deborah 193 

XXII. The Indian Summer and Oberry .... 200 

XXIII. The Price of a Woman 209 

XXIV. A Scene of Horror 221 

XXV. The Letter 227 

XXVI. Elizabeth Robbins’ Letter Home .... 232 

XXVII. Succatach 244 

XXVTII. The Last of the Rings 250 

XXIX. Some Old Records 258 


viii CONTENTS. 

XXX. How the House of LeBaron rejoiced . . 269 

XXXI. The Dogs of War let Loose 283 

XXXII. “Hurrah for Dawson!” 294 

XXXIII. A Worm in the Rose-Heart 301 

XXXIV. What the Post-Rider brought 311 

XXXV. A Private Log 321 

XXXVI. Parson Hovey. — T. for ’t is and t. for 

’t is n’t 337 

XXXVII. A Mystery 350 

XXXVIII. A Woful Day. — A Piteous Sight .... 358 
XXXIX. Deborah fires a Salute of Honor . . . 368 

XL. Madam Winslow’s Armchair 373 

XLI. A Quilting Bee and a Sing 381 

XLII. Robert Shurtliffe 394 

XLIII. Horatio Nelson and Lucy Hammatt . . . 401 

XLIV. Mother Crewe’s Last Curse 412 

XLV. A Day of Terror 422 

XL VI. Phalro! Phairo! Phairo! 435 

XL VII. The Woman Soldier . 447 

XL VIII. Over the Hills and Far Away 454 

APPENDIX. 

Captain Samson’s Petition to the Provincial Con- 
gress 459 


DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ don’t be in a hurry, widow ! ” 

There was a funeral in Elkanah Cushman’s new house 
on Court Street, corner of Court Square as we now say, 
although in those days the old folk still spoke of the 
Great Gutter, while the modish young people called it 
Framing Green, because the Gutter had been leveled 
and smoothed into a grass plot convenient for laying 
together the frame of a house. 

Elkanah himself called it Framing Green, when he 
told Lydia Bradford that he had bought of Parson 
Leonard the house on its northerly corner, and asked 
her to come and be its mistress. 

Lydia was barely nineteen, and had always lived in 
Kingston, so that the idea of becoming suzeraine of a big 
house on the corner of Framing Green and Court Street, 
Plymouth, was rather attractive ; and she had no dislike 
to Elkanah Cushman, though she privately thought him 
too old for love or marriage, his two-and-thirty years 
having done themselves full justice upon the stooping 
figure and lengthy face of the suitor. 

David Bradford, with his large family and small in- 
come, was also quite alive to the advantage of marrying 
a daughter into the wealthy Cushman connection ; and 




2 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


the mother, as she kissed her child good-by upon the 
wedding day, said, with a smile and a tear, — 

“Well, daughter Cushman, I shall often be over to 
see you, for Plymouth is more home to me than Kings- 
ton, for all I ’ve married out o’ town ! ” 

So Elkanah brought home his bride to the goodly 
house he had prepared for her, and when in another 
year a baby Elkanah came to help fill its lonely chambers, 
Lydia felt that life had really something to offer worth 
the living for ; but then the silent, reserved husband 
sickened and died, and to-day he was buried. 

The dreary memory of all these things mingled itself 
with Parson Leonard’s drearier prayer in the young 
widow’s ears, as she sat in the little room dedicated to 
the chief mourners, and wept some natural tears, but not 
enough to satisfy Mrs. Elkanah Cushman senior, who 
sternly watched her daughter-in-law, and would have been 
glad to attend her to some modified form of suttee. 

The prayer, following the usual course, did justice to 
the good qualities of the deceased, and they were many, 
and carefully avoided all mention of, or all petition for, 
the state of the departed soul ; for, so fearful were the 
colonists of Roman error in the matter of masses for the 
dead or purgatorial interference, that it was only of late 
any religious services at all had been held at funerals } 
and now, when the parson, softening his Calvinistic voice, 
alluded with as much tenderness as was in him to the 
young widow and fatherless child, Lydia raised her 
heavy eyes, and cast one look of affectionate regret 
toward the coffin visible through the open door, with the 
spare figure of the preacher at its head. Behind him, 
however, stood another man, and as the widow’s tearful 
eyes met his, a gleam of gratitude and childish appeal 


“DON’T BE IN A HURRY, WIDOW /»• 3 

shot through the tears, and softened the lines of the 
pretty baby mouth quivering so piteously. 

Lazarus LeBaron caught the expression, read it truly, 
and cast his own eyes thoughtfully down upon the 
pinched features of the dead man lying so quietly in 
the midst. 

He had done all that in him lay to save this man’s 
life, and he was glad to remember it now. He had not 
liked him nor pretended to, but he had watched by his 
bedside night and day with unremitting care ; nay, he 
had stolen from the hours of needful repose the time to 
con over and over not only the medical books his father 
had found sufficient for every need, but those imported 
by himself from London, Paris, and Germany. 

He had expend Q d upon this case all the care and all 
the skill at his command ; and these were no ordinary 
gifts, for not only was Lazarus LeBaron a born physi- 
cian, but he was son of that Francis LeBaron described 
as A Nameless Nobleman because of the mystery that 
shrouded his origin, but of whom it was soon discovered 
with absolute certainty that he was possessed of ex- 
traordinary medical and surgical skill, besides knowing 
how to hold his tongue more persistently than any other 
man on record, at least in the annals of the Old 
Colony. 

The mantle of the father’s skill had fallen squarely 
upon the shoulders of the son, and Doctor Lazarus Le- 
Baron was a recognized power for life and death any- 
where inside a hundred miles from Plymouth. 

Moreover, since his widowerhood, now some twelve 
months old, many a woman, maid or widow, within that 
radius, had quietly noted the doctor’s stalwart, deep- 
chested figure, fresh coloring, and noble if haughty head. 


4 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS . 


Many an one, too, had discussed the color and meaning 
of the steady eyes, whose power all had felt in one way 
or another, but in what different ways ! 

Elkanah Cushman had known them keen, thoughtful, 
and peremptory ; Lydia, in her sorrow and bereavement, 
had found them the kindest, gentlest, most encouraging 
eyes she had ever met ; her mother-in-law, Mrs. Cushman 
senior, felt them to be sarcastic, quizzical, mocking, or, 
as she briefly phrased it, hateful. His late wife had 
found them very patient, but generally very inscrutable 
eyes, and his children knew them to be affectionate, 
humorous, and occasionally stern. 

And now Parson Leonard had finished his prayer 
with a grewsome warning to all present that, however 
strong or well or young they might be to-day, the time 
was short ere they must follow their deceased brother 
to the silent tomb, and after that to judgment. 

Then he drew back to the doctor’s side, and six men, 
carefully selected as contemporary with Elkanah Cush- 
man, came forward, and raising the coffin laid it upon 
the hand-bier waiting at the door, for a hearse had never 
yet been seen in Plymouth. The procession, of men only, 
was formed, and, preceded by the bier with its relay of 
bearers, passed solemnly through the village, turned up 
through Town Square, q,nd, painfully climbing Burying 
Hill, paused at the grave dug near that great ancestor 
of the dead man, the famous Elder, whose modern monu- 
ment is so dwarfed by the ancient gravestone beside it. 

Here they laid Elkanah, third of the name, to his rest ; 
and when all was done, Doctor LeBaron quietly detached 
himself from the crowd, and, passing on in a southerly 
direction, stood for a few moments beside a gray head- 
stone, whose recent inscription told that here reposed 


“DON'T BE IN A HURRY \ WIDOW !” 5 

“Lydia, wife of Doctor Lazarus LeBaron,” hardly a 
twelvemonth dead. Long he looked, and perhaps that 
expression of patience and sadness Lydia Bartlett so 
well had known was strongest among the many that 
passed across his face ; but at the last he stooped to 
gather a weed from out the turf over that unquiet heart, 
and muttered, “ Poor girl ! Poor girl ! It cannot fret 
thee now.” 

A few steps beyond lay his father’s grave, and beside 
it a more recent one, telling that here slept Mary Wilder, 
who, having married Return Waite as a second husband, 
had on her death-bed pleaded to be laid in her last sleep 
beside her first love, her true husband. 

Reading the brief lines that seem framed to avoid 
confession of this faithful infidelity, Lazarus shook his 
head. 

“ Poor mother ! ” whispered he, “ thou hadst better 
been content with thy widowhood ! Perhaps one happy 
marriage is all that is granted — howbeit ” — 

And with the air of one whose mind is resolved the 
doctor strode along the brow of the hill, turned down its 
northern slope, and, crossing the Great Gutter near its 
head, approached the house of the widow Cushman, as 
Lydia was already called, from the rear. Here in the 
horse-shed, then hospitably provided for the use of his 
guests by every householder, stood the doctor’s horse 
munching his measure of oats, while the saddle and 
saddle-bags hung upon a hook above the rack, the mer- 
ciful man being merciful to his beast then as now. 

“ Come, Pegasus ! Leave the rest for another day, 
boy! We ’re wanted in Plympton before night.” 

And the doctor, who like his father was a little given 
to soliloquy, as indeed are most men not quite in sym- 


6 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


pathy with their surroundings, led out Pegasus, still 
munching the last of the oats, and proceeded to bridle 
and saddle him upon the grass patch close behind the 
house. Before the operation was complete the back 
door opened, and a very black woman, her face preter- 
naturally solemn, as befitted a house of mourning, came 
forward. 

“ Mist’ss says, Mas’r Doctor, you had n’t ought to go 
furder widout ’freshments. Please fer ter walk in de 
dining-room where dey ’s laid out fer de mourners.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Violet. Tell Mrs. Cushman that I 
cannot wait ” — 

But here a window was softly raised, and a blond 
head quaintly adorned with a widow’s cap appeared. 
The doctor looked up and took off his hat, but the apol- 
ogy upon his ftps was forestalled. 

“ Surely, Doctor, you won’t refuse a glass of wine and 
a mouthful of meat before your long ride. You will not 
be so unfriendly, I hope.” 

The sweet voice had a tremble in it which made it 
irresistible, and Doctor Lazarus answered by throwing 
the bridle over a hook set for that purpose at the door 
of the shed. 

The window was closed as softly as it had been 
raised, and when Violet showed the guest through the 
great homely kitchen into the dining-room, he found 
it deserted, although a door at the other side of the 
room closed as he entered. A small smile brightened 
the somewhat sombre eyes that observed the incident, 
but the doctor said nothing until he had hastily swallowed 
some of the food and wine profusely set forth by way of 
“ funeral baked meats,” and rose to depart. Then, hat 
in hand, he too passed through the door in question, and 


DON'T BE IN A HURRY, WIDOW l 


7 


found himself in the family sitting-room. Here, in a 
low chair beside the hearth, sat Lydia Cushman, some of 
her cumbrous mourning laid aside, and little Elkanah 
upon her knees. At sight of her guest, however, she 
put the child upon his feet, and rose, with a pretty flush 
in her cheeks. 

“ I hope you took something — I knew you would ex- 
cuse me — mother Cushman says I can’t be too particu- 
lar now that I am left alone — but — I hope you won’t 
be a stranger, Doctor ” — 

The fluttering voice died away in a little sob, and 
Doctor Lazarus took the soft white hand in his own. 

“ I sha’n’t come unless I am needed, and mother Cush- 
man need not be alarmed — but — don't be in a hurry , 
widow ! ” 

And with this somewhat enigmatical advice Doctor 
Lazarus took his departure, nor crossed that threshold 
again for several months. 

“ She’s sly enough for anything,” said mother Cush- 


man. 


CHAPTER n. 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 

Pegasus trotted steadily on, occasionally indulging in 
a canter on some inviting bit of descent, and subsiding 
to a walk upon the steep ascents, until within the bor- 
ders of Kingston his hoofs clattered over the bridge 
spanning Jones River, and a salt breath of the incoming 
tide fell refreshingly upon the doctor’s cheek. 

Drawing rein, he sat for a moment gazing upon the 
fair scene which a century and well nigh a half has 
hardly changed : the calm river sliding seaward between 
its grassy banks, the wide marshes bourgeoning into 
glory as the sun’s level rays strike athwart their ripe 
wet grasses, the verdure of Clark’s Island in the offing, 
the graceful Gurnet, the fair green slopes of Captain’s 
Hill, where Standish lived and died, curving far out into 
the bay, and beneath all and over all the soothing blue 
of sea and sky, out of whose hollow ever flows that 
sweet salt breath, pungent and wooing as the kiss of an 
Amazon. 

The doctor threw back his shoulders and inhaled it 
eagerly, then smiled in a dry, whimsical fashion all his 
own, and as he tightened the rein muttered behind his 
teeth a line of Virgil, to the effect that men, who call 
themselves the head of creation, are but impertinent 
ephemera, flitting for a brief moment through the exter- 
nal spaces of nature’s stability. 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 


9 


From which one infers that love was not as yet lord 
of all in the doctor’s life. 

A mile or two beyond the bridge, as Pegasus trotted 
stolidly past a lonely farmhouse, his progress was ar- 
rested by a sturdy little fellow, perhaps six years old, 
who, rushing down the path from the door to the bars, 
shouted, — 

“Ma’am wants Mister Doctor! She says stop a 
minute.” 

“ What ’s the matter, Sim ? Does ma’am want some 
senna-and-salts for you ? ” 

“ No, sir. I ain’t ailing,” replied Simeon, with a grin 
and a puppy-like twist of his fat little body. “ May be 
it ’s Silver-head Tom. He was talking to ma’am about 
you — here ’s ma’am ! ” 

And to be sure, a comely young matron now appeared 
upon the scene, an apron thrown over her head, and a 
baby in her arms. 

“ Oh, Doctor, I hope you ’ll excuse my stopping you, 
and I hope Simeon has said naught amiss ” — 

“ Not he ! Sim ’s one of my greatest friends, and by 
and by shall marry one of my daughters ; for he ’ll make 
his way in the world, and that ’s more than ever I did, 
or shall.” 

“ More than his own father has done, and that ’s not 
joking, as you are, Doctor,” said Mary Samson in 
rather an offended tone ; for nothing irritates really un- 
fortunate people like the mock humilty of those whom 
they believe more happy. 

“ Nay, then, goodwife, but what do you hear from 
Peleg ? I know Captain John Winslow sent home let- 
ters the other day from the West Indies, and I dare say 
one was for you.’ 


10 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Yes, Doctor, I got a scrape of the pen ; but my poor 
man is no penman at the best, and he hardly said more 
than that he was sick and had been nigh unto death 
with yellow fever, caught in one of those dreadful nigger 
holes ” — 

“ Niggers don’t often have yellow fever. Jack likes 
white meat better,” said the doctor absently ; and Mrs. 
Samson, with rather a toss of the head, turned toward 
the house. The doctor followed, but happily refrained 
from speaking aloud his thought, which was, “ I wish 
Winslow would bring me home a case of Yellow Jack. 
I ’d like to try conclusions with him ! ” 

“ Well, there, now,” cried the soldier’s wife, turning 
round on the doorstep, once a millstone, and smiling as 
good-humoredly as ever, “ I ’ve never told you yet why 
I hailed you. It’s Silver-head Tom, and here he is. 
Come in, and sit down a minute with him.” 

Following the wave of her hand, the doctor entered 
the great cool kitchen of the farmhouse, and confronted 
a patriarchal old man who stood leaning upon a crutch- 
stick and anxiously watching the door. As the doctor 
approached he made a tremulous reverence, touched his 
white hair, and said : — 

“ I ’m proud to see you, sir. I ’ve always laid out to 
go to Plymouth some day, just to look at your father’s 
son.” 

“ My father ! Did you know him ? ” cried Doctor 
Lazarus eagerly, and with an air of interest not many 
subjects could call to his face. 

“ Know him ! I guess I did, young man. Why, I was 
a fool, and he cured me ! ” 

“And never left the prescription for curing fools 
behind him to make his son’s fortune ! ” murmured the 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 


11 


doctor. “ Come, now, sit down and tell me the whole 
story, grandsir. What name did Mrs. Samson give you, 
but now ? ” 

“ Perhaps she said Silver-head Tom, for that ’s what 
I ’m mostly called,” replied the old man, with an air of 
injured dignity. “ But my name ’s Clark, — Thomas 
Clark.” 

“ And why do they call you Silver-head, Mr. Clark ? 
for your hair is no whiter than that of most men at your 
age.” 

“ That ’s the peth of the whole matter, Doctor. That ’s 
why I wanted to get speech of you all these years.” 

And the old man chuckled so immoderately over his 
little jest that he coughed nearly as long, and Mary 
Samson came to bring him a cocoanut shell of water, 
to thump his back, and to say reprovingly, — 

“ Now, grandsir, now ! You ’d ought to know better 
than set yourself off that way, — an old man like you ! ” 

“ There, there, that ’ll do, woman ! ” gasped the old 
man at last. “ I ’m right enough now, and the doctor ’s 
heerd a man cough before to-day, hain’t you, Doctor ? ” 

“ To be sure I have. Well, then ? ” 

“ Well, when I was a boy my folks lived over to Ply- 
mouth, Eel River way, you know. Do they call it Eel 
River now ? ” 

“Yes, just the same. Well ? ” 

“ Well, ’twas in the time of the Injun troubles along 
about — well, about ” — 

“ About 1676, perhaps ? ” 

“Yes, along about there. I never had no head for 
numbers, and it holds to reason the French doctor 
could n’t give me what I never had before.” 

“ That is Doctor Francis LeBaron, — my father ? ” 
asked Doctor Lazarus suggestively. 


12 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ The same, though he was n’t round in these parts 
when I got the wownd. Guess he was in France, or 
may be he was n’t born ” — 

“ Never mind which, grandsir, but get on with your 
story, for I ’m in haste.” 

“Well, I was just a-saying it was in the time of the 
Injun troubles, and uncle Clark’s house was a kind of 
garrison, where the neighbors could run in, or leave 
the women and children, case o’ danger. 

“ ’T was of a Sunday it happened, and father and 
mother ’d gone to Plymouth to meeting, and left us 
young ones into the garrison, with a whole lot more, 
women and children and old folks. Then them red div- 
vies, Totoson and Tispequin’s band it was, they got their 
chance somehow, and first we knew — Lord ! ’T seems 
as though I heerd ’em now — how they screeched and 
how they yelled — Lord ! ” 

And the old man’s voice quavered, while the piteous 
tears of old age rose in the rheumy caverns of the past, 
and coursed idly down the cheeks so ashen, so seamed, 
so sunken. 

“ Don’t mind that part, grandsir,” said Mary Samson 
gently. “ Here, now, take a sup of cider, and mind you 
that it ’s all long gone by.” 

“ Yes, long gone by, and I ’m a-going too. May be I ’ll 
see little Lois the way she used to be, and not — well, 
well, it don’t do for me to picter it out too partikeler, or 
I could n’t tell what comes after. But just as I was 
running to catch Lois out o’ that red divvle’s hand, an- 
other feller’s tommyhawk ketched me right atop of my 
head, and I did n’t know no more. No, nor did n’t know 
no more for most twenty year ; I was a fool, same as 
any fool up to the poor-farm, or anywhere you like. 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 


13 


You see that there tommyhawk had split a piece offen 
my skull, and it had kind o’ settled down onter the brain, 
and that made a fool out o' one o’ the smartest boys ever 
you see.’* 

“Yes, and then?” asked the doctor eagerly, as the 
old man paused to chuckle feebly and rub his hands. 

“ W ell, the doctor came, — all the doctor there was, 
one Brown ; but he wa’n’t more ’n half-wit himself, and 
he never found out what was the real matter, only 
healed up the scalp-wownd and called it done, and there 
was I a fool ! All this, mind you, is hearsay, for I don’t 
know nothing about it, not the first thing after I see my 
little sister hanging over that Injun’s arm, the blood run- 
ning down her yaller curls ” — 

“ And my father found you so ! ” 

“ No, he did n’t find me, but my folks heerd of the 
great French doctor over to Plymouth, for they ’d moved 
to Kingston then, and father was dead; but mother 
she heerd tell of how he ’d cured Mis’ Hunter, and many 
a one more, and she sot her mind on trying if he could n’t 
help her poor fool, for I ’d been such a bright boy, you 
see, and ’t was most a pity, now, wa’n’t it ? ” 

“The poor mother, — yes,” replied the doctor softly, 
as he bent forward, his arm upon his knee, his eyes 
eagerly fixed upon the old man’s face, while a tenderer 
smile than usual played around his thin lips. 

“ Well, she harnessed up the old horse, for she was 
pretty poor since father died, and she did n’t have no 
hired man to help her, and she got me in the cart, a 
kind of a drag it was, and kep’ me there with apples ; for 
I was such a fool that if I see a bright blow on the road- 
side, or anything else I wanted, like as not I ’d pitch nght 
out after it, — a real reg’lar fool, mind you ” — 


14 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS . 


“ I see, yes.” 

“ Well, we got to the doctor’s, so ma’am used to say, 
and she told him all about it, and got me to set down and 
let him feel of my head. Then he looked inter my eyes, 
and took my pulse, and so forth and so on, and fin’lly 
he told my mother that ef she ’d resk it, he ’d perform an 
operation that might cure me, and then ag’in might kill, 
but he rather thought it ’d turn out all right. Well, 
ma’am she was an awful spunky woman, and not used 
to backing out when once she ’d got under way for a 
p’int, so after thinking it over some, she said she ’d resk 
it, for a man might as well be dead as be a fool. The 
doctor he said she was some kind of a mother — ma’am 
never could call to mind just what kind, but ’twa’n’t 
French, though you ’d suppose he ’d kind o’ favored his 
own native talk, but she was main sure it wa’n’t French ; 
and then he said he could n’t do it right off, for he ’d got 
to hev some things from Boston to do it with, and he 
could n’t get ’em till some one was going, or he went 
himself, and then he asked her if she could afford to 
pay what it would cost. 

“Well, that was kind o’ discouraging to mother, for 
like as not she had n’t over a fo’pence-ha’penny in her 
pocket that minute, and wa’n’t dead sure where she ’d 
get the next one. But she kep’ a stiff upper lip, and she 
says she did n’t know as ’t would be right convenient to 
pay the whole expense to once, but if the doctor could 
wait a little, or if he ’d take it out in truck, her apples 
was as good as anybody’s, ’specially the high-top sweet- 
ings ; — yes, I see you ’re in a hurry, Doctor, so the long 
and the short on ’t is, your father he said he ’d leave it 
that last way, and he ’d come and get the apples, or what- 
ever, along as he wanted ’em ; and sure ’nough, while 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 


15 


mother lived, and that wa’n’t hut two-three years, the 
French doctor ’d come riding up same as you did to-day, 
and he ’d set and eat an apple and have a drink of cider, 
for he said that was apples too, and mabbe he’d put 
half a dozen or so of high-tops into his saddle-bags and 
carry home for Mis’ LeBaron to bake ; and I do suppose 
he took up most two shillin’ of his bill that way, and as 
fer the rest, — why, the Lord ’s a good paymaster.” 

“ And what did he do to you, my friend? ” asked Doc- 
tor Lazarus, with infinite patience in his voice. 

“ Lord, yes, I was nigh forgetting that part, — kind o’ 
lost my landfall. Well, after a while he sent word to 
mother to fetch me over and leave me for two-three days 
and his wife would take keer of me, for I ’d need be 
kep’ very quiet after the operation ; an’ mother she done 
it, only she asked Mis’ LeBaron to let her stop too, and 
do some work or ’nother to pay for her board, and she 
give her word she would n’t interfere with what the doc- 
tor see fit to do, let it be what it might. She had good grit, 
ma’am had, and the doctor see it, and he let her stop 
right through ; but I never could get her to tell me about 
it very clear, for the thought on ’t always made her feel 
faint and squalmish ; but as near as I can make out, the 
doctor strapped me down tight on a kind of frame he ’d 
fixed, and then he took and sawed a piece right outen 
my skull, and then he poked in and got the piece o’ bone 
that had caved in and laid onter my brain all them 
years, and pulled it out and showed it to ma’am. Then 
he took a silver plate he ’d got all ready there, and just 
kivered the whole right over and pegged it down, and 
there ’tis to-day.” 

Arriving at which climax, Silver-head Tom pulled off 
the little black cap he always wore in the house, and dis* 


16 DR. LeBaRON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


played a silver plate glistening with ghastly effect upon 
the crown of his bald head. 

Doctor Lazarus examined it with breathless interest 
and admiration. 

“ I am proud once more of my father. Forty years 
ago or more, and few men w r ould do as well to-day ! But 
here are letters engraved upon the silver.” 

“ Ay, all one, my old woman used to say, as if ’t was 
a coffin plate,” replied Silver-head Tom rather resent- 
fully. “ ’T is his name, and the year, and some gibberish 
of doctor’s talk, they tell me, for I never see the top of 
my own head yet.” 

“Oh, ay, — ‘F. LeB. fecit 1699,’ — plain enough, 
and more like a monument, my friend, than like a coffin 
plate, for it tells not of the emptiness that lies beneath, 
but of something better, gone before. And now, Silver- 
head Tom, for the sake of that story, and for my 
father’s sake, I am your friend and your physician for 
the rest of your life. Never shall you lack for tobacco 
when you ’re well, nor physic when you ’re sick, and 
when you die I promise you a silver coffin plate twice 
as big as that upon your head.” 

“ There, now, grandsir, now you ’re wholefooted, ain’t 
you ! ” exclaimed Mary Samson, well pleased, as the old 
man choked and gurgled his thanks. “ You see, Doctor, 
he ’s a man that ’s been unfortunate, and all his folks 
are dead, and he ’s got no means left and no home, and 
so for old times’ sake — for the Clarks and the Rings 
and the Samsons have always been neighbor-folk — 
Peleg and I we asked him to make his home with 
us, and kind o’ chore round a little. I ’m glad to do 
what I can for the old man, and I guess he ’s pretty 
contented, ain’t you, grandsir ? ” 


SILVER-HEAD TOM. 


IT 


“ Yes, — oh, yes, I s’pose I be, Mis’ Samson. I ’d 
like well enough to have a glass o’ grog sarved out a 
leetle oftener” — 

But Doctor Lazarus, rising to take his leave, caught 
a warning glance shot over the speaker’s head, and he 
answered promptly : — 

“ Oh, no, Clark, not grog for a man with a silver plate 
in his head. Why, man, it ’s sure death for you, soon or 
late. Cider, now, cider ’s the drink for you, and I know 
Mistress Samson has a capital brew of cider on tap, but 
even that you must take in moderation, Tom. A man 
with a silver plate in his head has got to be careful. 
And now good-day to you both, for really I must be in 
Plympton. Sim, my boy, here ’s a penny for you, and 
mind you grow up straight and handsome for one of my 
girls ! ” 


CHAPTER III. 


BATHSHEBA CREWE’S LOVER. 

“ Now, then, Pegasus, we must make up for lost time,” 
remarked the doctor, gathering up the reins and touching 
the good horse with his heel, a liberty Pegasus resented 
by boring forward at the rate of twelve miles an hour, 
and carrying his master out of Kingston and into Plymp- 
ton almost before he was saddle-fast. The twilight had 
already fallen, and as the doctor turned a sharp corner 
into the narrow and wooded lane leading to the Widow 
Crewe’s lonely farmhouse, both he and Pegasus were 
startled by the sudden whinny of another horse, who, 
quietly feeding along the roadside, narrowly escaped 
collision with the doctor’s steed. 

“ Who ’s there ? ” sharply demanded the doctor, peer- 
ing into the shade of a clump of birches, where some 
figures appeared to be stealthily moving out of sight. 

“ Oh, it ’s you, Doctor ! ” replied a man’s voice rather 
sheepishly, as a young fellow made his way through the 
bushes into the road, while his companion continued her 
retreat. 

“ Yes, Ansel Ring, it is I, coming to see your wife 
that is to be. How does she fare to-day ? ” And the 
doctor, drawing his shaggy brows together, watched with 
some disfavor the motions of the young man as he 
caught and mounted his horse, reining him in behind 
that of the doctor. 

“ I say, how does Bathsheba feel to-day ? ” reiterated 
lie peremptorily. 


BATHS HE BA CREWE’S LOVER. 19 

“Oh — I — I’ve not seen her yet, Doctor. I was 
just going there — I just came over from Plymouth.” 

“ And did n’t Molly Peach give you news of her 
friend just now? I thought she was here to nurse 
Bathsheba.” 

“ Yes, certainly — oh, I suppose so — yes, but I only 
just met her. She said she was tired, and stepped down 
the lane for a mouthful of fresh air, and so I happened 
to come along ” — 

“ Hm ! ” replied the doctor, and the two rode on in 
silence until the road ended in front of a little un- 
painted cabin, never very substantial, and now falling 
into ruin, which a prevailing air of untidiness and un- 
thrift degenerated into squalor. 

The doctor, dismounting, threw the bridle over a 
familiar hook, and strode into the house, paying no 
further attention to the young man, who somewhat dis- 
consolately rode his own horse round to a wretched shed, 
where he stabled him beside the widow’s meagre cow 
and in unsavory proximity to the pig and fowls, com- 
prising the live-stock of the farm. Pegasus would prob- 
ably have kicked the shed down before he would have 
accepted its shelter. 

But Ansel Ring’s horse was of meeker mould, and 
his master, having provided him with such food and bed- 
ding as were to be had, let himself quietly in at the 
back door of the house, and passing through a scullery 
ensconced himself in the end of the great fireplace, 
where besides a fire of three-foot logs was ample room 
for a bench, whose occupant could look straight up the 
wide, short chimney, and make observations upon the 
weather or the stars. 

A door opposite this fireplace stood open, and Ansel 


20 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


moved farther into the chimney, so as not to see the 
corner of the great bedstead with its curtains of dingy 
homespun, and the figure of Molly Peach stooping over 
the pillow. 

A pretty creature this Molly Peach, with a white and 
pink skin and yellow hair, and those greenish-gray eyes 
that often go with a pure blond complexion and which 
wise men do not trust. 

At the other side of the bed stood Doctor LeBaron, 
and between them lay the worn face and gaunt figure 
of Bathsheba Crewe, the betrothed of Ansel Ring, the 
friend of Molly Peach, and the only child of the dark, 
uncanny middle-aged woman who stood at the foot of 
the bed, her snake-like black eyes roving rapidly from 
face to face of the three silent figures before her. 

The doctor laid down the attenuated hand, and re- 
placed his watch in his pocket. 

“ She took the draught I left, and the cordial, and 
the powders ? ” asked he, looking at Molly. 

“Yes, sir, she took them all,” replied the girl, not 
raising her eyes. 

“ She took them all, for I never let them out of my 
sight till I saw them down her throat,” muttered the 
mother, with a suspicious glance at Molly. 

“ And who watches to-night ? ” asked the doctor 
briefly. 

“ Her man said he would,” croaked the widow. “ He 
came along with you, did n’t he, Doctor ? ” 

“ Yes. He ’s out in the kitchen. But you ’d better 
sit up too, widow. She ’s a very sick girl, Bathsheba 
is, and there ’d better be two watchers. Molly Peach 
might go upstairs to bed.” 

“All right, Doctor,” replied the woman eagerly 


BATH SHEBA CREWE’S LOVER. 


21 


“ that ’s the way it ’ll be, and you ’ll tell me about the 
medicine. I can give it to her full as well as any 
flibbertigibbet that comes along, I guess.” 

“ I ’ll tell you and Ansel both ; I ’m going out to my 
saddlebags for what is wanted, and I ’ll speak to him.” 

“ Give me something to make me sleep, Doctor ! 
I ’m so tired, — so tired ! ” moaned the sick girl, open- 
ing her great dark eyes for the first time. 

“ No, she does n’t sleep at all,” said Molly officiously. 
“ And she ’s so restless by times, and then all gone, like 
this.” 

“Well, child, you shall have something to make you 
sleep, and Ansel will sit beside you and see that you 
are not disturbed. All, that pleases you, does n’t it ? ” 
And the doctor hailed with kindly approval the faint 
gleam of satisfaction flitting across the sick girl’s ghastly 
face. 

Passing out through the kitchen, he beckoned Ansel 
to follow him, and as the two stood beside Pegasus the 
doctor, rummaging his saddlebags, turned a keen eye 
upon the young man and said : — 

“ Hark you, now, Ring ! That is a very sick girl, and 
a feather’s weight more may be the feather’s weight too 
much.” 

He waited a moment, but receiving no reply went on 
a shade more sternly : — 

“You are to watch with her to-night, for the old 
woman amounts to nothing, and Molly is to stay up- 
stairs, mind you. If you are going to play this girl 
false, I don’t suppose you want to kill her into the bar- 
gain.” 

“ I don’t know as you ’ve any call to say I ’m going 
to play anybody false,” began the young fellow sul- 


22 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


lenly ; but the doctor put him aside with an impatient 
“ Pshaw ! ” and returning to the kitchen began to meas- 
ure out and compound his drugs in the generous doses 
of that day. 

“ Now look you here, mother Crewe, and you too, 
Ansel Ring, — no, not you, Molly, for you ’ve nothing to 
do with the night work this time, — this powder is to 
make her sleep quietly ; but it need not be given until 
bedtime, — nine o’clock or so, if you ’ve any time 
piece ” — 

“ I ’ve got a watch, Doctor,” interrupted young Ring 
in eager boastfulness, dragging up from his fob an enor- 
mous silver turnip and holding it affectionately to his 
ear. “ She ’s going ! She ’s all right ! ” added he in 
a tone of relief, as he turned the dial toward Doctor Le- 
Baron’s quizzical gaze. 

“ Well, if she keeps on going until nine o’clock, you ’ll 
give Bathsheba this powder in jam, or applesauce, or 
best of all in the pulp of a roast apple ; but before that, 
just now if she will, she is to drink as much as can be 
got down of the herb tea I ordered before, and you are 
to keep the dock leaves to her feet, and have her covered 
close and warm ; in the morning, early, give her this 
draught ; draw the curtain across the foot of the bed, 
but not at the sides, for I hold that there is but little 
danger in a moderate circulation of air around a fever- 
ish patient — indeed — hm ” — and the doctor finished 
his wise heresy to himself with an inarticulate murmur. 

Mother Crewe, whose toothless jaws worked inces- 
santly, as if she chewed thoughts too venomous for 
speech, made no reply to these instructions, which in- 
deed she hardly heard, for her rheumy eyes were fixed 
upon the fair face of Molly Peach, thrust forward out 


BATHSHEBA CREWE’S LOVER. 


23 


of the shadow of the bedroom, whither at the doctor’s 
rebuff she had retreated. Ansel Ring, standing close 
beside the table, seemed both listening and watching 
intently, as the doctor laid down the medicines he had 
prepared and with his last words took up his hat and 
gloves and moved toward the door. 

“ I am going on to Goodman Ryder’s,” said he, paus- 
ing on the threshold, “ and if I find him no better than 
I fear, may like enough stay there all night. In that 
case I will look in again in the morning as I ride past. 
Good-e’en to ye.” 

But Ansel Ring followed the doctor, and, officiously 
helping him to the saddle, blurted out : — 

“ I ’m none so bad as you ’re thinking, Doctor. I ’m 
not one to hurt a poor sick wench like that, — I’m not 
bad” — 

“Not so much bad as weak, my boy,” replied the doc- 
tor, kindly enough, if a little contemptuously. “ And 
that’s a good deal more dangerous, both for yourself 
and others. But I ’ve hopes you ’ll prove man enough 
to hold the straight course until Bathsheba is out of dan- 
ger, at least.” 

“ You ’re very hard on me, Doctor ” — began Ansel ; 
but already Pegasus’ feet were clattering on the stones 
of the lane outside, and in another moment his rider was 
hidden in the leafy gloom. 

Turning into the house, the young man found Molly 
stirring the fire to a blaze, hanging on the kettle, and 
making various preparations for supper ; not tea, for 
that necessity of ours was almost an unknown luxury 
of our great-grandfathers, and was ill represented by 
various decoctions of herbs, by cider posset, by molasses 
and water, or by milk in various forms. 


24 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


The old woman was gathering up the medicines in het 
claw-like fingers, and mumbling maliciously over them, 
with side glances at Molly, who now brought forward 
some wooden plates and iron spoons, and waited beside 
the table till she could lay them upon it. 

“ Yes, I ’ll take care of ’em,” muttered the crone ; “ I ’ll 
see that my poor gal gets ’em. I ’ll leave ’em to none 
of your flibbertigibbets and light o’ loves to mix and 
meddle with, and ” — 

She hobbled off as she spoke, and Molly, swiftly pass- 
ing to Ansel’s side, whispered, “ See where she puts 
them ! ” and was back at the table before mother 
Crewe, jealously turning round on the threshold, could 
see or hear her. Without reply Ansel followed into the 
bedroom, and apparently bending over Bathsheba, who 
again lay with closed eyes, pale and still, he saw how her 
mother hid the medicines under a candlestick upon the 
high mantelpiece ; then softly passing out again, he 
seized a bucket, and had left the house before mother 
Crewe returned, and sat down at the table chuckling to 
herself in a ghastly fashion. Ansel presently came in 
with a bucket of water, and Molly placed a bowl of In- 
dian mush, a pitcher of milk, and another of molasses 
upon the table, to which she added a platter of bannocks 
of rye meal mixed with sour milk, and baked upon a 
board before the fire ; this was an unusually elabo- 
rate repast, and Molly had made the bannocks as a 
treat for Ansel, who was fond of them. The brief and 
gloomy meal over, Molly proceeded to clear it away, 
while the old woman wandered in and out of the sick 
room, guarding her child from some vague danger, with 
the pathetic restlessness of suspicious and helpless age. 
Ansel sat wretchedly beside the fire, wishing this, wish- 


BATH SHEBA CREWE’S LOVER. 


25 


ing that, wishing most of all, perhaps, that he was on 
board the “ Enterprise,” far away from his native shores. 
To him presently came Molly, whispering, as she thrust 
a little package into his hand, “ When she comes out, go 
and put this under the candlestick, and fetch me the 
one that ’s there now.” 

“ What ! What ’s in this ? ” demanded the young 
man, a cold dew springing upon his forehead, and his 
lips turning white. 

“ Rye meal, you silly fellow ! Do you think I ’d hurt 
Bathsheba ? ” demanded the girl, leaning toward him, 
until her sweet breath intoxicated him, and he grasped 
at her hand, murmuring, — 

“ Oh, Molly ! ” 

“ Hush ! She ’ll be back in a minute. Do as I tell 
you, and we ’ll have hours to ourselves — hush ! ” 

And as the old woman reappeared, the girl was 
placing the trenchers upon the dresser at the other side 
of the room. 

“ How is Bathsheba now ? ” inquired Ansel, rising 
hastily from his bench in the chimney corner, a feverish 
light in his eyes, but a strange pallor upon his cheek. 

“Sything and moaning, poor wench,” replied the 
mother tremulously. “ Go and speak a comfortable word 
to her, Ansel, boy. And get you to bed, Molly Peach ; 
there ’s naught for you to do in there to-night, nor here 
neither.” 

“ I ’m going, mother, but I ’d fain toast my feet a bit 
first,” replied the girl mildly, as she took possession of 
the chimney corner seat, and, removing her ill-shapen 
shoes, thrust her feet out toward the smouldering logs. 

Even mother Crewe could say nothing against so usual 
a proceeding, and- with one malevolent glance at the 


26 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


golden head glittering against the sooty background of 
the chimney, she returned to the bedroom, meeting 
Ansel in the door. 

“ She ’s sleeping, I think/’ said he softly. 

“ Go down, Ansel, and draw a jug of cider to keep 
awake on, for we two are to watch, lad, you and me. 
And if you fancy an apple or two, they ’re there in a 
kilderkin, all I ’ve got, all the poor old tree bore, — 
poor old tree, — poor old woman, — but I ’ll watch, I ’ll 
watch my gal ” — 

Muttering and mowing, she wandered back to the 
bedside, and Ansel hurriedly tossed the powder into 
Molly’s lap. 

“ You ’re sure there ’s no danger for Bathsheba ? 
What are you going to do ? ” whispered he hoarsely. 

“ Get the cider quick, quick ! ” returned the girl ; and 
as the bewildered youth, seizing a stone pitcher and the 
candle, disappeared down the ladder into the rough cave 
serving as a cellar, Molly, in her stocking feet, stole 
swiftly to the dresser and brought back a small iron 
vessel which she called a skillet, and, hastily wiping it 
out, shook the stolen powder into it. In a moment the 
light of the candle showed that Ansel was returning, 
and the girl quietly went to meet him, holding the skillet 
toward the light. 

“ Put some cider in there, and warm it, with a little 
molasses and a scrape of nutmeg,” said she softly. 
“ Mix the powder in well, and give it to the old woman. 
She ’ll sleep, and I ’ll come down and sit with you.” 

“ Oh — that ’s what — but Molly — Bathsheba ” — 

“ She ’ll sleep well enough without it,” replied Molly 
coldly. “ But if you don’t care, I don’t, — do as you 
like.” 


BATHSHEBA CREWE'S LOVER. 


27 


And with a toss of her golden head she snatched the 
candle and disappeared up the stairs to the loft, leaving 
the skillet on the dresser. 

“ Has 11’t that hussy gone yet ? What was she saying ? 
Why do you look so, boy ? ” demanded the old woman 
tottering across the room and peering into that white 
and guilty face. 

“I — I don’t know. She snatched my candle and 
was off so sudden I thought there was something 
wrong ” — 

“ Well, she ’s gone, and you and me ’s to watch, An- 
sel, — you and me. Have a drink of cider, and give 
me some, boy, for I ’m all of a chill, somehow.” 

“ I ’ll warm you some, if you say so, mother ; just as 
you, say though, — just exactly ” — And the poor tool 
turned to the dresser, and laying a hand upon the skillet 
paused for the oracle he had invoked. 

“ Yes, yes, warm me a drop,” said the old woman 
eagerly; “ it ’ll be comforting. Warm me a drop.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


JUDAS. 

It was two o’clock in the morning, that dreary time, 
that dying time, when earth has lost the vitalizing in- 
fluence of yesterday’s sun, and has not yet caught the 
first promise of the coming day ; the time when to the 
insomnist comes the true torture of wakefulness, and 
when the weary watcher finds sleep most imminent be- 
cause strength most wasted; the hour when sorrow is 
sorest and trouble most carking ; the hour when many a 
life loses hold of the things that are seen, and drifts out 
into the shadowy ocean of the unseen. 

Waking from the uneasy doze that ill supplied the 
place of sleep, Bathsheba Crewe turned painfully upon 
her pillow, moaning, “ Water ! — water ! ” 

No one replied, although the soft sounds of whisper- 
ing voices disturbed the stillness, and as the sick girl 
tried to move she was aware of a weight across her feet 
and the sound of heavy breathing close at hand. 

Painfully raising her head, she made out by the dim 
light the figure of her mother thrown across the foot of 
her bed, asleep and breathing stertorously ; but unable 
to arouse her, and exhausted with the effort, Bathsheba 
fell back again, repeating, “Water! Oh, give me 
water ! ” 

And still the sleeper never stirred, and still between 
the heavy sounds of her breathing came that faint mur- 
mur of whispering voices beyond. 


JUDAS. 


29 


For a while the girl lay listening vaguely in the 
drowsy indifference of fever, but suddenly a tone louder 
than the rest, her own name spoken in her lover’s voice, 
drew her to a startled consciousness of her surroundings, 
and dragging herself to the edge of the bed she peered 
out through the open door into the kitchen beyond. 
The sight that met her eyes was as the sting of the lash < 
to an exhausted horse, and thrusting her head still 
further out of the bed, to which she clung with a strength 
no one could have believed latent in those attenuated 
hands, she looked and listened eagerly. 

Side by side upon the chimney bench sat the false 
lover and false friend, their arms entwined, her head 
upon his shoulder, the bright hair fallen from its coil 
and trailing down serpent-wise across his breast, his 
head bent upon hers. A little tongue of blue flame 
shooting up from the buried log at their feet shed fitful 
light upon the picture, and as it rose and fell, the golden 
serpent trailing across both evil hearts seemed to writhe 
in joy. 

Preternaturally sharpened, the sick girl’s ears caught 
enough of that whispered talk to guess the rest : they 
loved each other ; they rebelled against the fate that 
bound him to one he pitied, but loved no more ; they 
longed, — it was the girl who said it, but the man’s 
silence consented, they longed that she should die and 
leave them free, or, as Ansel feebly amended, that she 
should recover, and see that it was not best to hold him to 
his word. But at this temporizing Molly flared out : — 

“ Don’t try to cheat yourself, Ansel ! She ’ll never 
give you up till she gives up life. You ’ll never be 
happy till she ’s dead.” 

The man made no reply, but stirred uneasily, and that 
glittering snake athwart his breast gleamed joyously. 


30 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


How long the tragedy went on no one now can tell, 
but it was cut short by a terrible interruption ; for of a 
sudden a tall white apparition, black hair flowing around 
a ghastly face, and great 'dark eyes flaming feverishly 
from deep caverns of woe, stood before them, one long 
pale hand extended, while from the lips, blue and life- 
less as if already dead, burst the one word — 

“ Judas ! ” 

Then swaying back and forward, like a tree smitten 
through the heart, the murdered girl fell crashing to 
the floor, and from the bedroom staggered the old 
mother, not yet fully awake, and threw herself upon the 
body of her child with suffocating cries of mingled grief 
and wrath. Shrieking wildly, Molly Peach started 
from her lover’s side and fled out into the night, while 
he, his manhood roused at that piteous sight of dying 
daughter and stricken mother, ran to raise them and do 
what yet remained possible of his forgotten duty to both. 

A few hours later, Dr. Lazarus LeBaron, riding 
quietly along the road from Goodman Ryder’s, and 
thinking of the placid sleep in which he had left that 
aged Christian in the hope of a joyful waking in the 
Great Day, was startled at sight of a woful and dishev- 
eled figure, with a scared face set in unkempt yellow 
hair, rising from beneath a clump of bushes at the way- 
side. 

“ Molly Peach ! ” exclaimed he sternly. “ What brings 
you here, girl ? ” 

“ Oh, Doctor LeBaron, I ’m so sorry — it was n’t my 
fault — and I ’m so sick and frightened, and I don’t 
dare go back to that old witch, and will you take me 
home to Plymouth behind you ? I don’t care for a pil- 
lion nor anything, only help me get away from here.” 


JUDAS. 


81 


She was crying and wringing her hands, and very 
honestly in trouble ; but Doctor LeBaron looked coldly 
upon her for a moment, and then said : — 

“ I ’m going to mother Crewe’s. You can, if it suits 
you, follow me there, and I will then answer your peti- 
tion according to what I hear.” 

As he spoke he touched Pegasus with his heel and 
rode on. The girl, drying her eyes, looked venomously 
after him for a moment, then, arranging her dress a lit- 
tle, walked on with an air of determination, and before 
noon reached Plymouth, footsore and weary, but obsti- 
nate. 

Arriving at the Crewe cabin, the doctor softly raised 
the latch and went into the forlorn kitchen, where the 
fireless hearth, the candle burned down in its socket, 
the cheerless table and shuttered windows, made a pic- 
ture of squalid desolation, fair sequel of the night’s ad- 
venture. From the bedroom came the sounds of fierce 
sobs, mingled with muttered imprecations and passion- 
ate appeals to one who made no reply. 

Throwing open the windows and door, to admit the 
morning light, the doctor passed into the bedroom, and 
stood aghast, for half upon the floor and half upon the 
bed lay the unconscious form of the sick girl, while be- 
side it, closely clasping the rigid limbs, knelt her mother, 
with gray hair falling in elf-locks around her shoulders, 
and grimy face seamed and furrowed with tears torn 
from the very life-springs in a torrent of passionate 
emotion. 

“ What is this ? What has happened, mother ! Here, 
let me lay this poor girl decently upon her bed. What 
has happened since I was here, and where are the 
others ? ” 


32 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Suiting the action to the word, the doctor easily 
raised the skeleton form of the poor old crone, and seat- 
ing her in an armchair, where she passively remained, 
wringing her hands and moaning, he laid Bathsheba 
upon the bed, put his hand over her heart, looked at her 
eyes, and felt of her extremities. 

“ She ’s not dead, but could scarce be nearer,” pro- 
nounced he. “ I want hot water, mustard, aqua vitae — 
but where is — nay, where is Ansel, where is any- 
body?” 

And throwing all the coverings he could find, over 
the lifeless body of Bathsheba, the doctor hastened out 
to his saddlebags to bring some spirits and other re- 
storatives, without which he never traveled. 

Returning, he cast an eye upon the empty fireplace, 
and to his great astonishment perceived the figure of a 
man seated upon the hearth, his head laid upon the arm 
he had folded on the chimney bench, and actually fast 
asleep. It was Ansel Ring, who, driven from the bed- 
room by the fierce invective of that wolf-like mother 
mourning over the body of her injured nursling, had 
thrown himself upon the hearth, and consistently with 
his weak, passionate nature, had sobbed himself to sleep. 

Rousing him with a thrust of his foot, the doctor per- 
emptorily bade him get the fire to burning, and heat 
some water as soon as might be, adding that what 
chance of life was left to Bathsheba Crewe hung mostly 
upon the speed with which remedies could be made 
ready. 

“ She ’s not dead, then ! ” quavered the wretched fel- 
low, avoiding the doctor’s gaze. 

“ Not quite. Don’t stop for questioning, but do as I 
tell you.” And the doctor returned to the bedroom to 


JUDAS. 


33 


pour his cordials down the lifeless throat, to chafe the 
temples, the hands and wrists, and to listen anxiously for 
some response from the poor broken heart, while the 
old mother, at his direction, feebly rubbed the icy feet, 
and in a rasping voice, broken by sobs and curses, 
told the story of the night, so far as she knew or sur- 
mised it. 

“ The water is hot now, Doctor,” announced Ansel 
timidly, and the croaking voice rose in wild maledic- 
tion. 

“ Get out of my house and out of my hearing, you 
hound ! ” screamed the old woman ; but as the white 
face of the youth disappeared, the doctor sternly said : 

“ Look you here, mother Crewe ! This girl’s life 
hangs on the balance. Let Ansel Ring, or for that 
matter Molly Peach, do all that they can to help me, or 
I cannot bring her back. Wait for your anger till your 
child cannot be harmed by it.” 

“ I ’ll wait. Never another word will I speak to 
either Judas till you say it’s safe,” promised the old 
woman promptly ; and the doctor, knowing she was to be 
trusted, took courage, and calling Ansel gave directions 
for a bath and other matters to be made ready. 

“ If Molly Peach is outside, bid her come in and help 
you,” added he coldly ; but as we know, Ansel sought in 
vain for the late companion of his treachery, and moved 
by remorse, shame, and the compelling influence of two 
severe gray eyes, proved himself so efficient and willing, 
that with what help the old woman could give, matters 
were soon in train, and in an hour or two from the doc- 
tor’s arrival Bathsheba lay much as she had lain the 
day before, very weak and low, but alive and quite com 
scious. 


34 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Leaving her thus, with many charges to his two un- 
trusty assistants, the doctor mounted, and, urging Peg- 
asus to unwonted speed presently found himself again 
at the Samson homestead, where Mary, warned by 
Simeon’s eager outcry, met him upon the step- 

“ Good-morrow, dame. No, I am in too much haste 
to enter. I want you to do a deed of neighborly charity, 
and go to mother Crewe’s as soon as may be.” 

“ Oh, Doctor, I ’m loath to say you nay ” — 

“ You can’t say me nay, woman ! ’T is life or death 
for Bathsheba Crewe,” interrupted the doctor positively ; 
and then in curt phrases he related so much as was 
necessary of the past night’s work, and set forth the 
present emergency. 

“ I think the girl will die,” said he in conclusion. 
“But what chance is left to her lies between now and 
this time to-morrow, and that chance I put into your 
hands, Mary Ring, and remember that Ansel is your 
own brother’s son.” 

“ Good land, Doctor, you need n’t take my head off 
to get me to go and save a girl’s life ! ” cried Mistress 
Samson, rather angrily, as she began to untie her 
checked apron, and glanced hastily at her short home- 
spun skirts and tidy f6ot-gear. 

“ The only reason,” added she, her indignant mood 
lapsing into perplexity, “ I kind of doubted about it is, 
that mother Samson and Priscilla Fuller — she that ’s 
my man’s twin, you know, and he ’s dreadful fond of 
her, Peleg is — they ’ve come to spend the day, and ” — 
“ All the better,” broke in the doctor. “ They will 
look after the house, and widow Fuller will have a 
special care of baby Priscilla, her namesake. But if 
Peleg’s mother is here I will step in and speak to her, 


JUDAS . 


35 


for her grandsire's sake. Captain Myles Standish is an 
ancestor to be proud of, let me tell you, dame.” 

“ So Peleg is always saying and telling his boys,” 
replied the hostess, well pleased, as she ushered her 
guest into the house. “ There ’s nothing suits him bet- 
ter than to sit of an evening alongside his mother, and 
get her to tell over the old-time stories she got from her 
father.” 

“ Her father would remember his father, old Myles P 
very clearly, I suppose ? ” 

“ Why, yes, he was a man grown when the old cap- 
tain died. Here ’s mother.” 

“ Good-morrow to you, Mistress Samson ! I came in 
on purpose to salute you, madam.” 

And the doctor, with a certain foreign grace of man- 
ner inherited from his father, stooped and kissed the 
cheek of a beautiful old woman, with soft white hair 
and wonderful blue eyes, who came forward, dropping 
her formal little “curtsey,” and smiling graciously ; — 
a tiny little old lady, for the Standishes are small of 
stature, but mighty of spirit ; and this granddaughter of 
the great captain had ruled her house and her family 
and herself, both wisely and strongly, all her life long 
until to-day, when, with her seventieth birthday behind 
her, she stood straight and active among her children 
and grandchildren, and planned their duties for them. 

“We heard what you were saying to Mary, Doctor,” 
began she, when the first greetings were over, “ and it 
seems to me better that my daughter Fuller here, who 
is a wonderful good nurse, and has neither chick nor 
child to hinder her, should go and take care of the sick 
girl as long as she needs care, while Peleg’s wife could 
only stay a short season at any rate, having her own 


36 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


duties to look after. So Priscilla shall go as soon as 
Tom Silver-head can put the saddle on our old white 
mare again.” \ 

“Yes, yes, that is by far the best way to manage it, 
madam. I know what a famous nurse widow Fuller is, 
and, as you say, she has no other ties if you can spare 
her.” 

“ I can spare her as well as she can spare me, Doctor 
LeBaron,” replied the old lady a little stiffly. “ My 
children have never had to stay or to go on my ac- 
count yet. As for poor Lyddy, you know for your- 
self, sir, how she would have fared, if it had not been 
for her mother.” 

“ Yes, indeed, madam ; and how is Lydia now ? ” 

“ Lively as a cricket, Doctor. She ’s gone to spend 
the day with cousin Peddy’s girls ; they ’ve got an 
apple-bee at their house, and Lyddy must be there to 
help.” 

“ Ah, these girls ! ” exclaimed the doctor, smiling in 
the depths of his heart, remembering that Lydia had 
passed her fortieth birthday ; and then, as stirring Pris- 
cilla Fuller came clattering down the stairs in her hood 
and riding-jacket, and Silver-head Tom brought the old 
white horse to the door, the doctor mounted Pegasus 
and rode swiftly home. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE DOCTOR’S DEN. 

Deep in reverie, Dr. LeBaron rode steadily on, 
hardly noting the familiar objects upon the roadside, 
until Pegasus halted so suddenly and decidedly upon 
the brink of a bright little stream bordering the way 
as nearly to throw his rider over his head. 

“ What — whoa — oh, ’t is Cold Spring, and you ’ll 
not pass it, Master Pegasus, save under stress of whip 
and spur ! Well, then ” — and the doctor, leaping lightly 
to the ground, suffered the horse to thrust his muzzle 
into the sun-warmed waters where he had paused, and 
then, leading him some twenty feet further to the spot 
where the spring bubbled out cold and clear from be- 
neath a great rock, he picked up the clam-shell care- 
fully laid in a clean spot, and emptied it again and 
again. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the doctor, with a long expiration 
of joyous breath, as he replaced the clam-shell and 
swung himself into the saddle, “ ’t is a good draught, 
Pegasus, none better, — that is, when none better may 
be bad! ” 

And smiling at his own conceit, LeBaron rode 
merrily on, until just before entering the town he came 
upon a saucy-looking young negro perched on a rail 
fence and munching an apple. 

At sound of a horse’s feet he rolled his great eyes 


38 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


lazily around, but, recognizing the rider, made haste to 
jump from his roost into the field, just in time to avoid 
a whistling cut from the\ doctor’s riding wand. 

“ Quash ! You lazy black-skin ! Did n’t I tell you 
yesterday if I caught you idling again I ’d give you a 
whipping ? ” 

“ Lord, yes, mas’r Doctor, and I had n’ no fawts o’ 
idling — o’ course I had n’.” 

“ What do you mean by that, you imp of darkness, 
when I caught you at it ? ” 

“ Did n’ cotch me, mas’r. Look yere, mas’r, did n’ 
you tell me eberybody got to wuk, quality same as 
niggers ? ” 

“ Yes — well?” 

“Well, mas’r, did n’ I ask you dat time wat wuk 
mas’r Doctor did, an’ mas’r Parson Leonard, an’ ” — 
“Well, well, I told you we did head-work, and you 
did hand-work ; but what ’s all that to do with it ? ” 

“ W’y, mas’r Doctor, I faut dat I ’d jes like ter try 
changin’ wuks, jes’ a leetly bit, an’ I was doin’ head- 
wuk a-settin’ top o’ dat ar fence w’en mas’r come 
along and kind of misunderstooded wat I was about.” 

“ Got clear of your whipping this time, Quash, you 
sinner,” replied the doctor, with an expectant smile. 
“ What was the head-work, boy ? ” 

“ W’y, mas’r, I was jes’ a clim’in’ ober de fence, goin’ 
fer pull termits, same as mas’r tole me, and fus’ ting I 
see was four five leetly sparrers a-pickin’ up grub-worms 
out ’n de hills. So jes’ den I kinder lighted onter a 
apple dat was a-layin’ round, an’ I sez to myself : — 

“ ‘ ’Hi, den, Quash, s’pose you frow de core o’ dat apple 
right ’mongst dat leetly crowd o’ birds, one, two, free, 
fo’, five of ’em, an’ s’posin you hit two o’ dem, how 


THE DOCTORS DEN. 


39 


many ’d be lef’ ? * Now how many does you make it, 
mas’r Doctor ? ” 

“ Two out of five leaves three, according to my arith- 
metic, Quash,” replied the doctor carelessly ; “ what does 
your wisdom say ? ” 

“ Well, mas’r, I s’pose you ’s right; any ways, ’t ain’t 
likely a pore nigger do head-wuk same as a ge’man ; 
but de way I was reck’nin’ was dat dey ’d all fly away, 
an’ dere would n’t be so much as one leetly fedder lef’. 
But you see, mas’r, I had n’ got de apple eat off de core, 
so I had n’ had a chance to fling it ’fore mas’r come 
along.” 

“ Quash ! Cut me a good stick from that birch tree, 
and come here.” 

“ Lordy, mas’r, you ain’t a-goin’ ter lick pore nigger 
boy fer not knowin’ no better, be you, mas’r ? ” 

“ If I don’t, it ’s only because I ’m in too great a hurry, 
you rascal ; but look out for the next time, sir ” — 

“ Oh, mas’r, I clean forgot fer tell you dat ar arrant 
from Miss Lyddy ” — 

“ An errand from Miss Lydia ! Now see here, Quash, 
you ’ll get that whipping yet, if you ’re so careless. What 
is your errand, sirrah ? ” 

u W’y, Miss Lyddy, she tell me to kinder wander out 
t’orst Kingston, an’ w’en I see mas’r Doctor cornin’, tell 
him to hurry long good, ’cause young mas’r Laz’rus 
come last night from Barbadoes, an’ fetch a young 
ma’am, Marg’et.” 

“ Lazarus come, and brought a wife ! ” echoed the 
doctor, in astonishment. 

“ Jes’ so, mas’r. Dat w’at Miss Lyddy say tell mas’r 
Doctor.” 

Without reply, the doctor touched Pegasus, with the 


40 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


whip so often idly menacing Quasho, and hastened for- 
ward, leaving the slave to chuckle rapturously over his 
own skill, to eat another apple, pull a few turnips, and 
finally to saunter home to an abundant dinner ; for the 
slavery of Massachusetts was actually the benignant and 
patriarchal institution so loudly claimed farther south, 
at a later day. 

Riding rapidly past the widow Cushman's house, with 
only one sidelong look at its empty windows, the doc- 
tor was reluctantly halted before a substantial mansion, 
whose site is now occupied by Davis Hall. It was the 
house built by Francis LeBaron for his bride, Mary 
Wilder, almost fifty years before ; it was the birthplace 
of his three children, and had until lately been the home 
of Francis, his youngest son, whose widow, sister of Doc- 
tor Lazarus’ first wife, now stood forth to intercept him. 

“ What is it, Sarah ? I’m in haste,” demanded the 
doctor impatiently, for he was not fond of his doubly 
related sister-in-law, and liked her all the less that she 
was about to marry Joseph Swift, and carry the old 
house out of the family. 

“ Why, I wanted to tell you, Lazarus, that your boy 
Lazarus has got home from Barbadoes, and brought a 
wife and two or three blacks, and ” — 

“ In that case, I had best get home myself, and take 
some order in the matter,” interposed the doctor with a 
smile, and touching his cocked hat with a gesture which 
Sarah LeBaron suspected, and perhaps not unjustly, of 
mockery, he rode on. 

A few rods further brought Pegasus to the end of 
Main Street, and nearly opposite to a large gambrel- 
roofed and somewhat imposing-looking house, built in 
1703 by Doctor Francis LeBaron, who just as it was 


THE DOCTORS DEN. 


41 


completed went to occupy a very narrow and quiet 
dwelling upon Burying Hill, leaving this estate to his son 
Lazarus. A big meetinghouse now covers its site, but 
more interesting discourses still come out of the phantom 
walls of the old than the visible inclosure of the new 
building. 

Pegasus, feeling that he was master of the situation, 
stiffened his neck, quickened his gait, and resistlessly 
bore round the eastern corner of the house, and down a 
narrow driveway to his stable in the rear, where both 
Pompey and Prince, Quasho’s co-laborers, stepped for- 
ward to take the bridle, with a grin of welcome. 

Two more black fellows lay sprawling in the sunshine, 
upon the barn floor, but the doctor, only glancing at them 
enough to see that they were strangers, and that he had 
interrupted a luxurious gossip, made his way into the 
house. As he opened the kitchen door, he paused in 
dismay, for Pandemonium and Babel are hard for a 
quiet man to encounter, without some long breath of 
preparation. The great kitchen, and not only that, but 
the sitting-room beyond, as could be seen through the 
open door, seemed full of men, women, children, negro 
servants, and little dogs, while a great green parrot, 
chained to a perch in the window, was shrieking pro- 
fanity and maniacal laughter to the extent of his 
powers. 

“ There ’s father ! Children, hush ! Lazarus, here ’s 
father ! Hannah and Teresa, stop that noise ! Mary, do 
pick up Bartlett ! Joseph, throw something over the 
parrot ! Sister Margaret, can’t that black woman of 
yours carry your baby upstairs for a little ? ” 

“ Lydia, you seem to be the only responsible person 
left in the house,” suggested the doctor, rather severely ; 
u your brothers and sisters are all distraught.” 


42 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ My duty to you, father ! ” exclaimed a blithe voice, 
while a slighter, milder copy of the doctor’s own marked 
personality extricated himself from the crowd, and came 
forward with extended hand. 

“ Glad to see you, son Lazarus,” replied the father, 
cordially taking the proffered hand, but looking past the 
young man at a pallid, dark-eyed girl, who timidly ap- 
proached, with a half smile upon her sweet lips. 

“And this is my wife, Margaret, father,” added the 
young man, turning to take her hand and convey it to 
that he still held. “ There has never been the opportu- 
nity of writing to tell you of my marriage, until of late, 
and so I thought best to come myself and show you my 
fair excuse.” 

“ I did not know there had been so strange a check of 
communication with Sent Luzee, in the last year ” — 
began the doctor. 

“ Oh, I beg pardon, but I have been gone from there 
this six months. Peter Newsome, Margaret’s father, of- 
fered me a fair opening for practice ” — 

“Well, well, we shall have time to speak of all that, 
my boy, and need not keep your wife waiting just now,” 
interposed the father, courteously bowing to the new- 
comer. “ You are very welcome, daughter Margaret, and 
Lazarus shall be pardoned some inattention to his father, 
if he does not neglect his wife.” 

He drew her nearer, and kissed the smooth, creamy 
cheek, through which, at the salute, a rich color glowed. 

“ I thought she ’d be my best excuse, sir,” said the 
proud young husband. “ And Flora, bring lilly mas’r 
here. There, father, there ’s your namesake ; there ’s 
Lazarus number three ! ” 

The grinning negress, resplendent in her bandana 


THE DOCTOR'S DEN. 


43 


turban and Turkey-red cotton gown, drew near, and, as 
she held her nursling up to his grandfather’s grave in- 
spection, it was pretty to see the likeness in unlikeness 
of the three Lazarus LeBarons, and mark how all repro- 
duced the features of Francis, the founder of their house. 

“ A fine little lad, a sturdy boy,” said the elder, lightly 
touching the child’s brow, “ and I shall see more, both 
of him and his mother, later ; just now, I will ask you 
for a little breakfast, Lydia, and then must visit some 
sick folk hereabout. Have there been any calls, Jo- 
seph ? ” 

Joseph, a young fellow, not yet twenty-one, but study- 
ing medicine with his father, and acting as his assistant, 
was about to reply, when his sister Mary, a sprightly girl, 
just entering her teens, suggested with elaborate inno- 
cence : — 

“ You were called to Parson Leonard’s last night, you 
know, Joe, and had to stay till the nine o’clock bell 
rang.” 

“ Is any one sick at the parson’s ? ” began the doctor, 
but seeing the angry color flash up into Joseph’s face, 
and catching the flicker of mischief in Mary’s blue eyes, 
the father closed his lips rather tightly, and left the 
room to go to his own private den. For this was the 
age of parental reserve and of filial reverence, and had 
Mary LeBaron’s mother been alive, and the family in 
the bands of strict discipline, she would never have 
dared to jest in her father’s presence, even upon so 
tempting a theme as her brother’s courtship. 

Something of this the doctor felt as he strode through 
the hall and mounted the shallow stairs, with their 
carved balusters and rail, fmported by his father from 
England. 


44 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Yes,” muttered he, taking the key of his study from 
a pocket in the long-flapped waistcoat showing far be- 
neath the claret-colored riding-coat still buttoned across 
his chest, “ yes, they need a mother, Lyddy as well as 
the young ones, and the house cries out for a housewife 
— it is no self-seeking folly ” — 

And then the doctor stood and looked thoughtfully 
around the dingy back room into which he had locked 
himself ; a very unattractive room to most observers, 
with sad-colored walls, broken only by a torn and 
patched map of Europe, and some rude shelves holding 
a few French books, a score or so of leather-covered 
medical works, with about half as many choice volumes 
of Homer and some of the Latin poets, daintily bound 
in white and gold vellum, and bringing their price even 
then in the Dutch and German marts whence they came. 
To-day they would be priceless. 

Above the high mantelshelf with its plated candle- 
sticks and snuffers, not ranked then as ornaments, but 
articles of homely necessity, was tacked a piece of red 
cloth, called harrateen, left over from covering the seats 
of the best bedroom chairs, and stolen by the doctor 
while his wife’s back was turned, much to her bewil- 
derment. 

If, however, disembodied spirits are allowed to return 
and fulfill the unsatisfied aspirations of this life, sure it 
is that Lydia Bartlett, mother of the seven children we 
have just encountered, had long ere this crept through 
the keyhole into this forbidden chamber, whose interior 
she had never in the flesh beheld. 

And, granting this possibility, one can imagine the 
satisfaction with which she would exclaim in her new 
tongue, “ If there is n’t my piece of crimson harrar 
teen ! ” 


THE DOCTOR'S DEN. 


45 


No doubt, also, this gentle ghost would curiously ex- 
amine the relics to which the harrateen formed a back- 
ground, — a silver spoon with a perfectly round bowl, 
a broken ring empty of its gem, and a pair of tiny bal- 
ances, the scales and beam of chased silver, and the cords 
of green silk ; the weights lay beneath in the round-cor- 
nered tortoise-shell case that had traveled many a mile, 
some fifty years earlier, in the pocket of Francis, father 
of Lazarus LeBaron. A little lock of light brown hair 
lay in one of these scales upon a bit of paper whereon 
was written the one word Faith ; the other was weighed 
down by a silver penny, beneath which was written 
Lucre. 

The hair was his father’s, the faith was his mother’s, 
and the Queen Anne penny represented the comfortable 
property of that mother’s second husband. 

It was a neat little epigram, kept by the doctor for 
his own private enjoyment, unless indeed poor Lydia’s 
ghost had ere this wondered feebly over it. 

For the rest, the room contained a large table crowded 
with papers, memorandum books, a great wooden ink- 
stand supporting a thicket of quill pens, a pounce box, 
some wax and a taper, various specimens of drugs in 
various stages of preparation, some vials, and the name- 
less litter of a student’s table ; disorderly, to be sure, but 
scrupulously neat, for no woman ever yet excelled Laza- 
rus LeBaron in this feminine virtue. 

A great leather-covered armchair was placed at the 
end of the table nearest to the fireplace, while a piece of 
homespun carpet and a footstool suggested cozy visions 
of a pair of slippered feet propped upon the stool and 
toasting their soles, as eyes of dreamy content watched 
the flames flaring up the wide chimney, and the fra* 


46 DR LeBARON and his daughters. 


grance of cedar logs and pitch-pine and bayberry twigs 
floated through the room. At the corner of the hearth 
stood a clay furnace, a bpx of charcoal, some crucibles, 
and a small still, while on shelves above lay retorts, and 
various glass utensils of strange shape and air, brought 
home from Holland by the doctor, and never exhibited 
either to his family or his townsmen. 

There were those who whispered that “the French 
doctor ” had bequeathed to his son uncanny secrets 
bordering upon art magic ; that the herbs he so care- 
fully culled in the fields, or cultivated in the lush 
garden stretching down behind his house to the Town 
Brook, were components of the Elixir Vitae whose for- 
mula the doctor was always striving to reproduce. They 
said that he sought for the Philosopher’s Stone ; they 
said all the things their forefathers had said in the 
beginning, of Faustus, and Grandier, and Galileo, and 
many another man too learned and too reticent for the 
comprehension of his neighbors. Lucky was it for Laz- 
arus LeBaron that he lived in an age when these begin- 
nings of gossip had ceased to lead to any deadly end, 
and were perhaps rather an advantage than a danger to 
their object. 

None the less was the student very careful of allow- 
ing any, even the nearest and dearest of his household, 
to inquire too curiously into the occupations or the in- 
struments confined within those sacred walls, and it was 
no doubt some resolution to continue this reserve that 
formed itself in the man’s mind, as, leaning an elbow 
on the mantelshelf, his eyes wandered from the relics 
upon their harrateen background to the crucibles at his 
feet. 

“ No, my dear, you ’ll never come in here ! ” muttered 
he, with a slow, serene smile. 


THE DOCTORS DEN. 


47 


A broad leather - covered sofa, or settee, as it was 
called, stood against the wall opposite the windows, and 
now served as the doctor’s nightly couch ; for since his 
wife’s death he had given up the great northeast cham- 
ber to his four daughters and baby son ; the other front 
bedroom was a guest-chamber ; and Joseph with Lazarus 
before he went away had occupied the fourth room, a 
rambling barrack, out of which a curious low-browed 
door led into the slave quarters, where, in two little bed- 
rooms over a joyous, disorderly kitchen, Pompey with 
Phyllis his wife, Prince, a fine stalwart young fellow, 
and Quasho, already introduced, feasted, laughed, and 
slept in great peace and contentment. 

But now Lazarus, who a couple of years before had 
gone forth to seek his professional fortunes in the West 
Indies, had come home in the double dignity of married 
man and guest, and must be promoted to the spare 
chamber. Let us pause a moment to inspect it. Behold 
an imposing room, with both bed and window curtains 
as well as chair bottoms of the famous crimson harra- 
teen ; a “ chist-of-draws,” such as is nowadays called a 
chiffonier, (a name not more correct, and not nearly so 
expressive as the old one), made of black walnut tree 
wood, a rare and precious material in those days when 
no white man knew that it grew abundantly in our own 
Western States, or could have brought home more than 
his own back-load if he had ; a tall spindle-legged toilet 
table, also furnished with drawers, many and compli- 
cated, and covered with white fringed dimity, stood be- 
tween the front windows, with a mirror above it, the 
carved and gilded wooden frame representing a twining 
rose-stem, finished at the top with a cluster of blossoms 
and foliage. The doctor had himself bought this in Paris, 


48 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


whither he went before his first marriage, and it was 
respectfully looked upon not only by his own household, 
but by all his townsfolk. 

The painted and polished floor of this stately bower 
was partly covered by a square of English carpet, and 
the fireplace was surrounded by Dutch tiles represent- 
ing with minute fidelity various Scriptural scenes ; upon 
the red sandstone hearth were arranged a ponderous 
fender, andirons, and fire set, all of brass and polished 
like the sun. A fire artistically laid with backlog, top- 
log, forestick, lightwood, and kindlers, with shavings 
invitingly peeping out > to welcome the match, gave 
promise of a comfortable blaze by and by, which should 
dispel the chill and forbidding atmosphere of this closed 
room, which, truth to tell, had proved a little overwhelm- 
ing in its heavy grandeur to Margaret, the young wife, 
who in her tropical home had never seen a fireplace or 
its furnishing, a carpet, or even so much as a suit of har- 
rateen curtains. Nay, even the feather bed with its su- 
perincumbent sack of eider down, which when warmed 
by the body rose gradually in stifling billows of irrita- 
ting heat around the sleeper, was a surprise and a terror 
to her, accustomed as she was to simply a sacking with 
one linen sheet fastened tightly over it, and another to 
use as the only covering. 

Furthermore, this enormous pile of feathers and down 
was heaped with English blankets, a crimson quilted 
spread, and more of that horrible eider down, tacked 
into a puff made of two old brocade dresses. 

No wonder Lazarus the younger found his Barbadoes 
wife in tears when he followed her to that sombre guest- 
chamber, on the night of their arrival, and was obliged 
to reassure her with many tender jests and caresses. 


THE DOCTOR’S DEN. 


49 


The doctor’s reverie has lasted quite through this 
long digression, and might have lasted longer but for 
a timid tap on the door. 

“ Who is it ? ” demanded he impatiently. 

“ It ’s me, father, and ” — 

“ Say ‘ It ’s I, father,’ if you please, Lydia, before you 
go on.” 

“ It ’s I, father,” responded Lydia meekly, although 
so small a store of meekness went to her composition 
that she reserved it all for filial use. “ And I came up 
to tell you that two of the selectmen, Squire Lothrop 
and Mr. James Warren, are below, seeking you.” 

“ I hope you put them in some other place than that 
Bedlam I found you in,” remarked the doctor, without 
opening the door ; and Lydia, always meekly, replied : — 

“ Yes, sir, I put them in the northwest parlor.” 

“ They won’t want to stay long in that chilly room,” 
muttered the host, and, waiting until he heard Lydia’s 
steps upon the stairs, he cast one regretful look around 
his study, and followed her, locking the door and put- 
ting the key in his pocket. 

The northwest parlor, where the visitors stood await- 
ing their host, was a room of even sterner majesty 
than the best bedroom, inasmuch as a long mirror at 
either end reflected its chilly dignity, and multiplied to 
infinity the square mahogany table, the eight great 
chairs covered in scarlet morocco, the rosewood case 
standing open to display the handles of twelve knives 
and twelve forks made of solid silver, not the poor shells 
one may so cheaply buy to-day, the two penitential “ loll- 
ing-cbairs,” whose straight backs, long legs, and slippery 
leather seats were a satire upon their name, the floor 
painted and varnished like polished white marble, and 


50 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


the square of Turkey carpet, coming just inside the legs 
of the chairs, stiffly ranged around the room. The only 
spot offering a timid hope of comfort was the fireplace, 
where shone a magnificent copper set of andirons, with 
shovel, tongs, and poker all elaborately tipped with 
lion’s-heads. But although the chimney-back, itself an 
heraldic casting, was blackened by the genial blaze of 
bygone fires, it was to-day painfully cold and clean, and 
the two men leaning on either end of the high mantel- 
piece, with its decoration of conch shells and some curi- 
ous bits of glass and china, looked as chill and miserable 
as the complimentary mourners at a winter funeral. 

“Ugh! ” shivered the doctor, giving his hand to each 
with cordial grasp. “ This room is worse than out-of- 
doors. Come into the other room, gentlemen, where, 
though there may be some disorder, there is also a fire.’ , 

He turned and laid his nand upon the brass thumb- 
latch, bright and cold as ice ; but Isaac Lothrop stepped 
forward, and said in a voice of mysterious meaning, — 

“ Nay, Doctor ! The weather is not yet so very cold, 
and some matters are best treated behind closed doors ; 
surely a little chill is not to be set against our duty of 
warding off the fires of hell.” 

“ Surely not, Judge Lothrop,” replied the doctor, 
with a faint gleam of humor in his eyes. “ But where do 
these fires threaten to break out, in our little town ? ” 

“ James Warren can tell you, and as his house is but 
across the way from Consider Howland’s ” — 

“ Your own is as near, Judge,” interrupted Warren, 
pleasantly. “ But to make the matter short, Doctor, both 
Lothrop and I have marked how a certain strapping 
young fellow, calling himself master and part owner of 
the schooner Dolphin, trading coastwise for the most 


THE DOCTOR'S DEN. 51 

part, makes Plymouth his principal port of entry, 
whithersoever his charter party may lay the voyage.” 

“ Yes, my son Lazarus came but now passenger in 
the Dolphin from Barbadoes,” said the doctor. “He 
spoke of Captain Hammatt as a pleasant fellow and 
good navigator.” 

“ He did ! ” exclaimed Lothrop. “ That is well, and 
to the purpose. We knew that Lazarus came by the 
Dolphin, and it was partly to have his opinion of the 
young man that we are here.” 

“ But what has Hammatt done amiss, or why does 
the town take order with him ? ” demanded the doctor. 

“ That is the very matter in hand. Speak out, War- 
ren, and tell what has come under your eyes.” 

“Well, nothing so very unheard of.” And genial 
James Warren smiled good-naturedly, in spite of 
Lothrop’s magisterial frown, while the doctor’s gleam of 
satiric humor answered the smile. 

“ I was standing idly by the window in my study, 
which, as you know, looks across North Street to Con- 
sider Howland’s house, on the opposite corner ; and as 
the casement lay open, I saw this Hammatt standing 
with his arm around the waist of Mistress Lucy How- 
land ; and as I still looked, in some bewilderment, for 
the maiden is reputed as good as she is fair ” — 

“ Nay, she is very brown, like all the Howlands,” in- 
terposed the doctor whimsically, and Warren indulged 
in a constrained smile, as he replied : — 

“ You have reason, Doctor. ‘ Black but comely,’ if one 
may quote ” — 

“ Pardon me, brethren, but are not we rather straying 
from the record ? ” interrupted the judge dryly. “ As 
you looked in at the open casement of Mr. Howland’s 
house, you saw ” — 


52 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ I saw Captain Hammatt put his arm around Lucy 
Howland’s waist, and kiss her heartily, and more than 
once,” replied Warren succinctly. 

u And did the maid resist ? ” inquired the doctor, re- 
pressing a smile. 

“Nay, I marked not that she did. In very truth, I 
withdrew from the window, feeling myself in a dishonor- 
able position.” 

“ Why, yes, one does not willingly enact the part of 
Peeping Tom of Coventry. And what is your purpose 
in this matter, Judge ? ” 

“ To ascertain at once whether the young man’s views 
are honorable, and whether Master Howland is cognizant 
of these proceedings,” replied Lothrop promptly. “ I 
for one am not minded to give in to the sinful laxity of 
morals and the weakening of discipline that marks our 
day. I hold with those who have gone before, that the 
fathers of a community are set to watch as them who 
must give account, over the doings of those in their 
charge ; and I opine that it is our duty, as selectmen of 
this town of Plymouth, to assure ourselves of the charac- 
ter and purpose of every stranger who sets foot within 
our limits, and to take heed that no wolf creeps in to 
molest our lambs.” 

“ Surely, surely ! ” exclaimed the doctor, more gravely, 
as his mind reverted to his own motherless girls, es- 
pecially handsome and headstrong Lydia, Lucy How- 
land’s great friend and confidante. “ I agree with you, 
Judge Lothrop, and am right glad you will take some 
steps to sustain the purity and order of our town. What 
measures do you propose ? ” 

“ To summon the young man and woman before my 
justice court, and admonish them,” replied Lothrop 


THE DOCTOR’S DEN. 53 

severely, but Warren, mild and indulgent as his wont, 
shook his head, 

“ Nay, brother, that seems to me an extreme measure 
for the first. Let us remember the fable of the furious 
blast, which only caused the traveler to wrap his cloak 
more tightly round him, while under the warmth of sum 
shine he willingly cast it off. I would in turn suggest that 
our good doctor here, who is the family physician of 
the Howlands, should make a friendly visit, and in 
course of talk with Consider should tell him what has 
been seen ” — 

“Nay, Master Warren, but I have seen nothing, and 
so can tell nothing,” interrupted the doctor decidedly. 
“ It is for you who have spied this unholy sight to de- 
scribe it to our friend Consider, and bear the brunt of 
the tempest that shall surely break upon your head.” 

“ ’Sider hath a fiery temper,” remarked Warren 
meditatively. 

“ Then, since you gentlemen find me too hard, and 
I must think you far too soft, suppose we all go together 
and investigate this matter,” suggested Lothrop, with a 
little impatience. “ Come, Doctor, get on your hat, and 
we will move at once.” 

“ May I beg five minutes’ grace while I swallow some 
meat and drink, for none save a draught of milk and a 
bannock at Plympton has passed my lips to-day. And 
let me offer you both a glass of wine or aqua vitae ; it 
must be near eleven o’clock.” 

“A little past,” replied Warren with a smile. “We 
found many of our friends at the Bunch of Grapes as 
we came up the street, and joined Josiah Cotton and 
some of the rest in a glass of bitters, so no more for 


54 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Ever a temperate man, Warren ; and you, Judge, are 
almost too much so for your own good. Follow Paul’s 
advice to Timothy, my*, friend, and do not ill treat your 
stomach. It is your best friend.” 

“ Why, if my doctor orders me to do so, I can but 
obey,” replied the judge, relaxing his grave visage to a 
smile. “ And yet no more just now, I am obliged to 
you.” 

“ Well, then, I will be at Master Warren’s in a quarter 
of an hour, if that suits you both,” and the doctor has- 
tened with numbed fingers to open the hall door and 
ceremoniously attend his guests to the top of the steps. 

“ I am so glad, father, that they are gone, for you 
will be starved with cold and hunger,” said a voice be- 
hind him, as Lydia peeped out of the sitting-room door. 
“ See, all is ready for you.” 

“ Ah, that looks pleasant ! ” exclaimed her father, 
striding over to the fireplace, and seating himself in the 
roundabout leather-bottomed chair drawn up beside a 
little table laid with a very comfortable breakfast, or 
rather lunch. 

A steaming tankard of spiced ale, with a roasted 
crab-apple bobbing up and down upon its frothy sur- 
face, was the central ornament, and the doctor took a 
hearty draught with the eagerness of a chilled and hun- 
gry man. 

“Ah, that is comfortable, Lyddy,” said he, rubbing 
his hands over the fire, and munching a slice of warm 
gingerbread. “ And what have you done with the mob 
that was here but now ? ” 

“ I sent them all different ways before I made ready 
for you,” replied Lydia, with the air of one who knew 
what she did and how to do it. “ Margaret and little 
Lazarus ” — 


THE DOCTORS DEN. 


55 


“ Call him the child, or the baby, or what you will ; 
only do not din my own name into my ears perpetu- 
ally, or I shall grow to loathe it,” exclaimed the doc- 
tor more irritably than he often spoke, and, with a hasty 
good-by, he snatched up his hat and left the house. 

His tall fair daughter went to the window and 
watched him down the street. A handsome young wo- 
man, as all men allowed, with the grand figure and bear- 
ing of her sires, and with a peculiar creamy velvety 
complexion, richly but not deeply tinted with the red of 
a peach’s sunny cheek ; her eyes, bluer than her father’s 
and very bright, had perhaps a little too much of the 
same keenness and criticism, and at times accented too 
strongly the somewhat haughty curve of the nose and 
lips. A woman to gallantly hold her own whether for 
right or wrong, and command respect whether she won 
love or not. 

“ He does n’t like to have his grandson called Laza- 
rus,” murmured she, watching her father’s back, in its 
claret-colored coat and cocked hat, with the black-tied 
cue beneath. “ Is it that he would not have Lazarus 
married ? Is it Margaret — no, she is so pretty all men 
must like her. Is it — yes, yes, it is a grandchild, and 
he not yet an old man. Perhaps, — why, yes, — what 
more like than that he should marry again ! And how 
hard I have tried to make home homely for him ! ” 

“ S’pose I take dese yer’ things ’way, Miss Lyddy,” 
suggested a cheerful voice at her back, and, turning 
sharply, Lydia confronted a portly, genial-faced negress, 
dressed in a homespun check petticoat-and-short-gown, 
with a portentous turban on her head, and a string of 
Guinea-gold beads around her neck. 

“Yes, take them away, Phyllis, and lay the table for 
dinner. It must be near noon.” 


56 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Sun jes’ a-crapin’ roun’ to de noon-mark on de 
phial, Pomp sez,” replied Phyllis, with an air of impor- 
tance. ^ 

“ Dial ! Dial, Phyllis ! How often I ’ve told you that ! 
And what have you got those beads on for ? They look 
very absurd with your working clothes ; I suppose you 
want to show off before Mr. Laz’rus’s servants.” 

“ ’Pears like you could n’ nebber bear to see dese yer’ 
beads, Miss Lyddy, dough you knows well ’nough, chile, 
dat I airnt em honest, wif de venters mas’ doctor 
’lowed me to make in mas’ Watson’s schooner ” — 

“ There, there, don’t stand talking, and don’t be im- 
pertinent. Of course the beads are your own ” — 

“ Spec’s if dey was Miss Lyddy’s own, she ’d like de 
looks ob ’em better,” grumbled the n egress as she 
flounced away with her tray, but her young mistress 
had turned back to the window, and deep in reverie 
seemed to hear nothing 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE LASS THAT LOVED A SAILOR. 

To understand how Mr. James Warren and Squire 
Lothrop were both of them in a position to overlook the 
domestic affairs of Consider Howland’s house, it is nec- 
essary to know something of the topography of Plym- 
outh. 

The Main Street of the village, then as now, was a 
short straight bit of highway, its southern end opening 
on Leyden Street, where stood Dr. LeBaron’s house 
nearly opposite this opening. Proceeding north, a few 
doors from the corner where Governor Bradford’s house 
had once stood, one arrived at the Bunch of Grapes 
tavern, a genial hostelry built in the Dutch fashion, 
with the upper story projecting some eighteen inches 
over the lower, and ornamented at either corner with a 
great pendulous bunch of grapes carved in wood, a de- 
vice as suggestive of the good cheer within as the 
“ bush ” of olden times. 

Still trending north, Main Street stopped in a vague, 
confused sort of way in an open space, now called Shir- 
ley Square, whence opened a road pursuing the same 
direction, variously called the Kingston Road, the Bos- 
ton Way, the King’s Highway, and nowadays Court 
Street ; for at its westerly side lies, as we have seen, 
the Great Gutter, now become Court Square, for the 
sufficient reason that the Court House stands at its head. 
On the corner of this road and this square stands a 


58 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


goodly brick mansion upon the site of that earlier house 
where pretty widow Cushman sat and pondered smil- 
ingly her doctor’s last gfivice. 

Returning to Shirley Square, we find another short 
straight street opening from its lower or eastern side, 
and running down to the water’s edge and around 
Cole’s Hill, where slept, and still sleep, the Pilgrims in 
their undistinguishable graves, with the gray Rock be- 
tween them and the water. 

This, now called North Street, was then generally 
known as Howland Street, most of the land upon its 
northern side remaining in possession of the grandchil- 
dren and great-grandchildren of the Pilgrim John, to 
which latter category belonged Consider Howland, whose 
house and grounds formed the upper northern corner. 
On the opposite corner, facing on Main Street, stood a 
great gambrel-roofed colonial structure, built by that 
Colonel John Winslow just now fighting for Great 
Britain in the West Indies, and leading poor Peleg 
Samson into great fatigues and dangers. But as a 
soldier who is also a widower does not need a big colo- 
nial house, the colonel, before leaving home, sold his 
Plymouth property to his brother-in-law, James Warren, 
husband of handsome, haughty Penelope Winslow. 

Forming a triangle with these two houses, as it stood 
on the other side of Shirley Square facing the head 
of North Street, was a large and imposing mansion 
owned and occupied by Colonel, or Judge, or as he was 
familiarly called, Squire Lothrop, who, standing upon his 
front doorsteps, could look down North Street and his 
own new wharf at its foot to the sea beyond, or into the 
windows of his neighbors Warren or Howland, as the 
fancy seized him. In fact, very little could or did occur 


THE LASS THAT LOVED A SAILOR. 59 


in either house without becoming matter of friendly in- 
terest to the inmates of the other two, — an interest oc- 
casionally resulting in action, as in the present instance. 

An appreciation of this position crossed the mind of 
Lazarus LeBaron, while he stood for a moment with 
x the great brass latch of Warren’s door in his hand and 
looked about him ; and the smile in his eyes passed to 
his lips, when he saw the door of the Lothrop house 
open, and the worthy magistrate, in his broad-skirted 
red camlet coat, flapped waistcoat, black velvet breeches, 
capacious silk stockings, and buckled shoes, descend the 
steps and cross the square as nimbly as a great regard 
for his own dignity would allow. 

“ I saw you from my window, Doctor, and came at 
once, for we have little time to spare before the noon 
bell strikes. Ah, here is brother Warren ! ” 

“Yes, I chanced to be looking out o’ window and 
saw you both,” said Warren simply, whereupon the 
doctor took snuff, a great resource of his when wishing 
to conceal amusement, or indeed any emotion. 

“ Probably Master Howland has seen us all by this 
time, and will be awaiting our visit,” said he gravely, 
and led the way across the head of North Street to the 
old many-gabled house, with its wide low casements, 
their little diamond-shaped panes of greenish glass set 
in lead, the upper story projecting over the lower, and 
a great chimney eating out the heart of the house. 

Like many of his townsmen, Howland, although as 
gently born and as well-to-do as most, did not disdain 
to entertain such strangers as preferred his quiet house 
to the noisier hospitalities of the Bunch of Grapes, and 
in this way young Hammatt had become an inmate of 
the house, and found opportunity to cultivate pretty 
Lucy’s acquaintance. 


60 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


The oaken door stood wide open, showing a wain- 
scoted hall, both deep and wide, and a great rambling 
staircase. As the thro,e gentlemen entered and hesi- 
tated which way to turn, for a sitting-room lay at either 
side the door, a portly figure emerged from the gloom 
of the hall, and a jovial voice cried : — 

“ Welcome, gentlemen ! ’T is not often you come 
neighboring in these days, but you ’re heartily welcome. 
This way, this way ! ” 

And rather decidedly, the master of the house ush- 
ered his guests into the left-hand or westerly room. 

“ ’T was in the other room I saw the young folks 
courting,” whispered Warren to Lothrop, who nodded 
judicially. 

“ Nay, Howland, you can’t complain that I am not 
here often enough,” protested the doctor pleasantly. 
“ ’T was but last week I came to plaster up little Tom’s 
broken head ; and how is he by this time ? ” 

“He’s well enough, the young rascal,” replied the 
father carelessly. “ It ’s not of doctor’s visits I ’in talk- 
ing now, however, but of friendly calls and pleasant 
chats. Why, we four men were boys together at school 
not so long since, and Master Sparhawk flogged us all 
impartially, though now I think twice on ’t, I believe 
James Warren seldom gave old Sparhawk a chance, for 
he was so ready at his task and so blameless in his be- 
havior. And you too, Judge, you often went scot-free, 
just because of the majesty of your look, I fancy. The 
dominie was scared of you ; but the doctor and I, — we 
caught it, eh, Doctor ? ” 

“ Not so much as I would give two such boys, if they 
were in my care to-day,” replied the doctor genially, 
while Master Howland, setting a square brass-bound 


THE LASS THAT LOVED A SAILOR. 61 


casket upon the table, threw it open, disclosing a trio of 
high-shouldered gilt bottles, with three glasses to match 
set in sockets behind the bottles. 

“ Now here is a case of Spanish liqueurs , boys, just 
brought in by Captain Haminatt of the Dolphin, the 
same craft that fetched your boy, Doctor.” 

“Ay.” 

“ The case has not been broached yet, and you three 
shall be first to touch lips to the three glasses. Which 
shall it be, Squire, — Maraschino, Anise, or Parfait 
d’ Amour ? ” 

To refuse would in those days have been counted an 
insult, and the three gentlemen each took a drop of 
Anise, merely remarking that eleven o’clock was past, 
and dinner over-nigh at hand to more than taste strong 
waters. 

“ And truth to tell, Consider,” said Lothrop, laying 
down the little Dutch glass, and reverting for the mo- 
ment to habits of boyish familiarity, “ we have come 
to ask you some questions which you must take in good 
part as they are meant.” 

“ Questions upon what matter ? ” demanded Howland 
abruptly. 

“ Nay, now, man, take it in good part, I say, for, as 
you claimed but now, we have been boys together, and 
still, I hope, are friends ; but will you tell us of your cour- 
tesy if this Captain Hammatt of the Dolphin is court- 
ing your daughter Lucy with your knowledge and con- 
sent ? ” 

“ Oh ! I cry your pardon, gentlemen ! ” exclaimed 
Howland, thrusting the glasses back into the case and 
slamming down the lid, as signifying that hospitality 
was no longer in order. “ Had you told me that you 


62 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


came as selectmen to inquire into the character of an 
inn-holder’s guests, I would have shown you more rev- 
erence and less attempt fit familiarity ” — 

“ Nay now, nay now, neighbor,” interrupted James 
Warren pacifically, “why will you be so jealous and 
so peppery? We come as friends and old school-fel- 
lows, and as fathers, careful for your daughter as for 
our own ” — 

“ Thank you for nothing, neighbor ; I come not spy- 
ing round to see if Lyddy LeBaron and Ann Warren 
bear them as modest maids should, and I ’d have you 
know that Lucy Howland needs no more looking after 
than they.” 

“ Why, surely not, nor did we say it ” — began Judge 
Lothrop, but at that moment the door of the opposite 
parlor opened suddenly, and a young man’s voice was 
heard saying : — 

“ I ’ll be back anon, mistress.” 

Howland strode to the door of the room where stood 
his three visitors, and throwing it open exclaimed : — 

“ Here is Captain Hammatt to answer for himself, 
and you too, Lucy ; come you both in here and speak 
with these dignitaries who are inquiring after you.” 

A bold-looking young fellow, dark of skin, with eyes 
of that grayish hazel one finds in an eagle’s head, and 
with a good deal of the same intensity of gaze always 
suggestive of discernment and power, but with a good- 
tempered and pleasant mouth, entered the room followed 
by Lucy Howland, a girl of seventeen, whose placid 
face wore already the look of calm intelligence and 
steadast courage which moulded her life. 

“ Here is Captain Hammatt, gentlemen. Please open 
your business to him,” said Master Howland, withdraw- 


THE LASS THAT LOVED A SAILOR. 63 


ing to the back of the room, and placing Lucy’s hand 
under his arm. 

“ At your service, sirs,” began the sailor, his eyes 
passing from one face to the other with keen inquisi- 
tion. 

u Captain Hammatt,” returned Lothrop formally, 
“ we are three of the men selected by this town to keep 
a fatherly eye upon its interests, and especially upon the 
safety and good conduct of its inhabitants and its visi- 
tors. In that capacity we think it right to inquire if 
you intend to make Mistress Lucy Howland your 
wife ? ” 

The eagle-like eyes flashed a little and settled them- 
selves steadily upon Lothrop’s face, but very courteously 
the young man replied * — 

“ Mistress Howland’s own father has not thought fit 
to ask me such a question, and much do I admire at the 
laws that empower any other man to do so ! In Eng- 
land every man’s house is his castle, but in this new coun- 
try you seem to have found out some better way. How- 
beit, since you have in a way tripped my anchor for me, 
I ’ll e’en make sail as best I may. My intentions of mar- 
riage with this young gentlewoman are depending upon 
her intentions with regard to me, and those you have not 
given me sea-room to arrive at as I would, so I must now 
make them out as I can. Mistress Lucy, will you take 
me for your bachelor, and wed me so soon as I have some- 
what more to offer you ? ” 

He stepped forward as he spoke, his broad-leafed hat 
in one hand, the other extended toward the young girl, 
whose comely face, from pale, grew rosy-red, but drop- 
ping her father’s arm, and modestly laying her hand in 
that of her lover, she answered in a voice both still and 


64 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


clear, “Yes, Captain Hammatt, with my father’s and 
mother’s consent, I will be your wife when you and they 
see fit.” v, 

“ Bravely spoken, my lass, bravely said ! ” cried Con- 
sider Howland, laying a hand upon his girl’s head, and 
turning to look triumphantly at the three selectmen, who 
in turn gazed rather sheepishly at him, until Doctor 
LeBaron, with a laugh that did him credit, exclaimed : 

“ Why, there now, Master Howland, we grave old 
fellows have helped a very pretty little love-affair to its 
crisis, and surely you are our debtors ! Will not you 
once more open that chest, and let us each taste a drop 
or so of Parfait d ’Amour to the health of the young 
couple ? ” 

“ Ay, old friend, so let it be,” cried placable Warren ; 
and Judge Lothrop silently extended his hand to How- 
land, who seized and shook it heartily, while the last 
clouds of anger vanished from his choleric yet genial 
face, and the toast was drunk in its most appropriate 
cordial with such fervor that the harmony so seriously 
threatened was restored to more than its first perfection, 
and the little party separated at sound of the noon bell, 
with mutual good will and satisfaction. 


CHAPTER VII. 


mother crewe’s curse and elder faunce’s 

BLESSING. 

“ Doctor, a word with you, at your leisure.” The 
speaker was a tall, spare man, his gray hair falling upon 
his shoulders, and adding a wild impressiveness to his 
gaunt features and gleaming black eyes. He was clad 
in a suit of rusty black, and wore about his throat a 
white cravat, a good yard square when unfurled, while 
his hat was of the ungraceful shape known as “ shovel 
for this was the Rev. Nathaniel Leonard, pastor of Plym- 
outh, where as yet none had departed from the faith 
of the Pilgrims, or spoken of such a thing as division. 

Doctor Le Baron, who was walking down Leyden 
Street, on his way to the wharves, stopped, and cere- 
moniously raised his hat, a salute as punctiliously re- 
turned by the parson, for manners were not yet out of 
fashion, any more than brotherly love. 

u At your service, Dominie,” said he pleasantly. 
“ Shall I come in, or will you stroll down to the water- 
side with me ? I am going to have a look at the Dolphin, 
young Hammatt’s schooner.” 

“ I will come with you, if I may fetch my walking* 
stick first.” 

“ By all means. I will stand here and look at your 
new house, which, as my nearest neighbor, is an object 
of much interest. I never can cease to admire the cour- 
age and loyalty you displayed, Parson, in bringing all 


66 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


this lumber from Norton. It is not every man who can 
carry his native forests about with him ; it is quite after 
the fashion of royal personages, and also of snails, neither 
of which folk ever sleep out of their own houses.” 

“ Have your laugh, Doctor,” replied the parson, com' 
ing out and closing the door ; then pausing in the road 
for an affectionate backward look at the house standing 
just above the site of the old Common house, first of 
Plymouth dwellings, he added, “ Verily, friend, I do 
seem to conserve my native vigor and hopefulness by 
sheltering under Norton trees. It pleases me to lay 
hand upon some stout beam in garret or cellar, and say, 
‘ Yes, we grew out of the same soil, and fed upon the 
same air and sunshine.’ ” 

The doctor bestowed a rapid but strangely keen 
glance upon the face of the enthusiast, whose eyes, set 
steadily forward, seemed gazing upon some mirage of 
his native forests, and then he said : — 

“ You had somewhat to say to me, Dominie.” 

“ Oh, ay, I remember. You know that Bathsheba 
Crewe is dead ? ” 

“ Yes, a week or ten days since.” 

“ Well, the fellow that was to marry her, Ansel Ring, 
a sailor-man, I believe ” — 

“ Yes.” 

“ He was at my house last night, and would have me 
publish the banns between him and Molly Peach, niece 
of Good wife Jones, out toward Manomet Ponds. I put 
him off until I should know more of the matter, for it 
seemed unseemly to me that before one maid was cold 
in her grave he should be so boldly wooing another. 
You were the poor girl’s physician, and doubtless know 
something of the story. What say you ? ” 


MOTHER CRE WHS CURSE. 


67 


“ What say I ? ” replied the doctor meditatively, as 
he paused with one foot upon Pilgrim Rock, which he 
tapped with his gold-headed cane, while he spoke. 

“ Well, ’t is hard to say, for between them those two were 
the death of that poor maid, buried no more than a week 
agone ; and yet so mad are they upon each other that I 
doubt if they are hindered of marriage they may do 
worse. Certain it is that each will be the other’s best 
punishment.” 

“ Nay, then, a justice marriage is good enough for 
them. I for one will invoke no blessing on the heads 
of such reprobates. Let them be published, and then 
go to Squire Lothrop or some other magistrate to be 
coupled up.” 

“ Perhaps that is best,” replied the doctor absently. 

“ ’T is hard to say.” 

“ Talking of the new wharf, gentlemen ? ” demanded 
a bluff voice, as a man stopped and took off his hat to 
the parson and the doctor. 

“ Why, no, Cook : and yet, now you speak of it, I re- . 
member some talk of it. Squire Lothrop is going to 
build one here, I believe, as a mate to that,” and as he 
spoke the doctor pointed to the beginning of Long Wharf, 

“ with a dock between, for the accommodation of his 
boats and small craft.” 

“ Yes, but here ’s old Forefather’s Rock,” said Cook, 
tapping it with his foot. “ It ’ll never do to cover that 
over. Why, my old gran’ther ’d rise out of his grave to 
hear of it.” 

“ Your grandfather, Josiah Cook ? ” inquired the doc- 
tor a little superciliously, or so it seemed to Cook, who 
answered stoutly : — 

“Yes, sir. My gran’ther, Jacob Cook, was son of 


68 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Francis Cook, who came aboard the Mayflower, one of 
the old ancient settlers ; and gran’ther, he always said 
how his daddy told him v that this rock was what they 
stepped onto when they first landed, and afterward, 
when they brought the women ashore, a maid called 
Mary Chilton was the first to set her foot on ’t. That ’s 
the way gran’ther said, any way, and if you don’t be- 
lieve me, you can go over to Eel River and ask old 
Elder Faunce ; he ’s got eddication and he r s an Elder in 
the church, so may be he knows.” 

“No more likely to than you, Josiah,” replied the 
doctor cordially, “ and I for one am greatly beholden 
to you for naming this matter. It would not do for 
the doorstep of the Pilgrim’s home to be forgotten, 
would it, Mr. Leonard ? ” 

“ It seems to me rather a fond and foolish thing, 
Doctor LeBaron, to reverence stones and steps, and 
such matters. The Pilgrims, as they called themselves, 
were of those who know that here is no abiding place ; 
they sought a city that hath foundations.” 

“ And still you fancy that Norton timber covers your 
head more pleasantly than such as is grown in Plymouth, 
Dominie,” replied the doctor, pulling out his snuffbox, 
and offering the parson a pinch with a dry smile. 

“ But then of course it ’s not to be expected that 
them whose fathers did n’t come in the Mayflower can 
feel just like them as did,” remarked Josiah Cook, his 
eyes twisted up and his head on one side, as he squinted 
across the harbor at some moving object upon the beach. 
“ Guess Finney’s folks have gone a-plumming,” added 
he abstractedly, as he walked away, leaving the two 
outsiders to look at each other and laugh. 

“ ’T is true enough, Dominie,” remarked LeBaron, 


MOTHER CREWE'S CURSE. 


69 


u Our gran’thers were not of the Pilgrim stock, and yet 
we may be passably good townsmen. I am riding to 
Eel River presently, and will call and have a talk with 
the Elder, of this and other matters.” 

“ And I ride to Manomet Ponds to speak with Ellis 
and the rest of his society ; they fain would set up to 
be called the Second Church of Plymouth,” said the par- 
son. “If it please you, I will travel so far as Elder 
Faunce’s house with you, and get his opinion upon their 
business.” 

From this morning chat between the doctor and the 
minister grew two important events, both affecting our 
story. 

The first was, that, some three weeks later, Ansel 
Ring and Molly Peach were quietly married by Squire 
Lothrop in the office adjoining his house, in the presence 
of two or three of the townsmen, who, coming in to sign 
a deed, were detained by the judge as witnesses. 

Although not strictly in the line of his duty, Lothrop, 
having pronounced these candidates man and wife, pro- 
ceeded to deliver a short homily to them, and, touching 
distinctly upon their irregular course of wooing, charged 
them gravely to take heed lest a bad beginning should 
bring about a worse ending. 

Not a little disturbed by this rebuke and by the cold- 
ness of the witnesses, the new-made couple somewhat 
precipitately left the office, omitting to close the door ; so 
that those within, as well as several passers-by and a 
little knot of loungers at Consider Howland’s door, were 
all aware of a tall, emaciated figure suddenly rising 
from the lower step of the house-door and confronting 
Ansel and Molly, who at sight of that haggard face and 
streaming gray hair started back aghast. 


70 DR. LeDARON and his daughters. 


“ Mother Crewe ! ” gasped Molly, her face blanching 
piteously. 

“ Yes, Bathsheba Crete’s mother ! ” shrieked the old 
woman. “ Bathsheba, that you murdered, you two — yes, 
murdered — the only child I had, and she lying in her 
grave and you dancing on it ; but not for long, mark 
you, not for long, if a widow’s curse can hender ” — 

“ Oh, don’t curse us, don’t curse us ! ” screamed 
Molly, falling on her knees and covering her face with 
her hands. But mother Crewe’s face showed no sign of 
relenting as she gazed upon that trembling figure, 
decked out with its poor attempt at bridal finery ; in- 
deed, an added scorn and detestation seemed to gather 
upon her brow, and, bending over the girl, her arms 
stiffly extended upward, she deliberately cursed her in 
all the detail of anathema to be gathered from the black 
and bitter pages of wizard lore : sleeping, waking, in her 
home and among her neighbors, in her body and in her 
soul, in her life and in her death, and in a dishonored 
grave. “ And may your husband fail in all he under- 
takes and die of a broken heart, and may all your 
sons be cripples, and all your girls lightlied and de- 
serted as mine has been, and no one to pity or to help, 
and ” — 

But here Judge Lothrop, who, with the rest, had lis- 
tened until now, stepped down from his office door, 
and, laying a hand upon the old woman’s shoulder, 
sternly bade her be silent, adding to Ansel Ring, who 
stood dazed and stupefied, “ And you, man, rouse your- 
self, and take your wife hence as quickly as may be. 
When all is done, mother Crewe has a fair excuse for 
what she says.” 

The words and the voice of authority seemed to 


MOTHER CREWE'S CURSE. 


71 


break the uncanny spell, lying not only upon Ansel Ring, 
but upon all the spectators, and a tumult of voices, of 
counsels, of reproof, at once arose, in the midst of which 
mother Crewe, turning sharply into an alley leading up 
between Judge Lothrop’s and Francis LeBaron’s gar- 
dens to the Burying Hill, disappeared, and was not pur- 
sued. 

A few minutes later the new-made husband and wife 
took their way to their bridal home as joyously and 
bravely as our first parents departed from Paradise. 

The bystanders looked after them dubiously, and 
Josiah Cook voiced the feeling of most of his hearers 
when he said, “ I would n’t stand in that young feller’s 
shoes for all the gold of Creshus, would you, now, Mas- 
ter Howland ? ” 

Howland gravely shook his head. “ I know one thing : 
no daughter of mine shall marry one of Ansel Ring’s 
sons, and no son of mine shall wive one of his daughters 
— if I can help it.” 

“Well put in, neighbor,” retorted the voice of Laz- 
arus LeBaron, who had silently joined the group. “ Our 
sons choose their own wives without our help, for the 
most part.” 

The other memorable event resulting from the con- 
versation between Parson Leonard and Doctor LeBaron 
was, that, on a fine sunshiny morning, some three days 
after this untoward wedding, an open wagon was 
driven slowly and carefully into town from the direc- 
tion of Eel River. In the centre of it was placed an 
armchair, and upon this was seated an old, old man, 
whose ninety-five years had bowed the once stalwart 
figure, seamed the face with a thousand wrinkles, 
bleached the hair to the whiteness of raw silk, and 


72 DR LeBARON and his daughters. 


stolen the strength of a voice once powerful in its 
Maker’s praise ; but they had not been able to quench 
the memory, or dull the affections, or break the spirit 
of that brave soul ; for this was Elder Faunce, the last 
man left alive who had talked with the Pilgrims face to 
face, had heard their wondrous story from their own lips, 
and had followed one after another to their honored 
though nameless graves. And now to-day, hearing that 
the Forefather’s Rock was in danger of itself going down 
to a forgotten grave, he had risen from his bed, and, 
tenderly protected and led by the children and grand- 
children who cared for his old age, he had come to say 
good-by to the Rock, and to identify it with certainty 
for generations yet unborn. 

As the wagon, with its escort of old and middle-aged 
and young descendants of the patriarch, passed slowly 
into town, it paused once that the Elder might drink 
from the Pilgrim Spring of “ sweet and delicate water 
and as a grandson brought him the clam-shell filled to 
overflowing, the old man tasted thrice, then poured the 
rest upon the ground, saying : — 

“ It is as the water from the well of Bethlehem.” 

And so the wagon rolled on up the hill to the centre 
of the town; for by this way would the patriarch be 
brought, that he might look once more at the old church, 
just about to be replaced by a new one, and the Bury- 
ing Hill, and the ancient houses which as a boy he had 
seen erected. 

And here the people gathered indeed around this 
messenger from the days gone by : the old men, who 
might have been his sons ; the younger ones, who remem- 
bered in their childhood gazing upon his white hair and 
bowed form as the type of old age ; the children, who 


MOTHER CREWE’S CURSE. 


73 


had heard their parents talk of him, and now stood 
wondering, their own life as yet too scant to appreciate 
the fullness of his. 

Young men and maidens, old men and children, they 
gathered in a sort of hushed excitement, waiting when 
he waited, and following when he moved ; for word had 
gone forth in some mysterious way that Elder Faunce 
had come among them for the last time, and that he 
had somewhat to declare. 

Through the town, down Leyden Street, past the 
doctor’s house and past the minister’s, that strange cor- 
tege moved slowly on, until, passing under the brow 
of Cole’s Hill to the Rock, it halted, and two stal- 
wart grandsons, stepping into the wagon, raised the old 
man tenderly, and stayed him while others upon the 
ground helped him to dismount. Then a score of old 
friends pressed forward, and would have grasped his 
hands and welcomed him ; but he, with solemn majesty, 
moved on unheeding, until, standing close beside the 
Rock, he took off his hat, and simply said : — 

“Thank God!” 

No prayer could have been so eloquent, no words so 
full of meaning, and first one, then another, and finally 
all who stood near, bared their heads, and muttered 
“Amen.” 

Covering his white locks, and leaning upon his staff, 
the Elder spoke, and told the people how he had talked 
man to man with the last of the Pilgrims, with John 
Howland and his wife, with John Alden, and Giles Hop- 
kins, and George Soule, and Francis Cook and his son 
John, and Mistress Cushman, born Mary Allerton, who 
died but yesterday, in 1699. 

“ And these men and these women all told the same 


74 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


story, children,” said the old man, looking round upon 
the people, while such stillness reigned that the surf 
breaking upon the outer beach became distinctly audible, 
its grand diapason bearing up the quavering and slender 
voice. “ They all said that upon this Rock they stepped 
ashore, from the first man to the last ; ay, and the 
women too, for John Winslow’s wife, who was Mary 
Chilton, came here before she died, even as I have come 
to-day, and I stood by while she set her foot upon it, and 
laughed, and said she was the first woman of the May- 
flower to step upon that rock, and now she stepped on 
it for the last time, for this was her seventy-fifth birth- 
day. And ye, children of my own blood, I charge you 
to remember how, year by year, while God lent me 
strength, I brought you here, on Forefather’s Day, and 
set your feet upon this Rock, and told you what mighty 
things the Fathers had done for you, and laid upon you 
to do them honor, and to serve God even as they served 
Him, with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your 
strength, and all your mind, — yes, and with your life, 
whensoever He calls for it. 

“ Do I say what is true, my children ? ” 

“ It is true, grandsir,” spoke out the nearest man ; and 
a score of voices echoed, “ It is true.” 

“ Then come ye forward, sons and grandsons, and put 
your feet upon the Rock once more in my sight, and 
never forget this day, you nor your children’s children, 
to the last generation.” 

So man by man, down to the boy of ten, the Faunces 
came and stood bareheaded on the Rock, and passed on, 
until the tale was told ; and finally the Elder himself knelt 
down, and kissed that precious relic, and prayed that it 
never should be forgotten, or the sons of Pilgrim sires fall 
short of the bright example of their fathers. 


MOTHER CREWE’S CURSE. 


75 


Then, exhausted and silent, he suffered his children to 
raise him and place him again in what had become, in 
some sort, a triumphal chariot, and so take him home 
by way of the water-side, followed by a vast concourse 
of people. 

Nor is this story a fiction of the novelist, but true, 
word for word, as any may read it in the annals of the 
Old Colony. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON. 

Plymouth Beach was not always the barren sand- 
spit it now is. The Pilgrims found it well covered 
with timber and fruit trees, of which one hundred and 
twenty-five years later a fair grove still lingered. This 
was some six hundred yards in length, extending from 
side to side of the beach, and inclosing in its heart a 
lawn of thick turf, with a spring of delicious water at 
one side. 

Four great beech trees stood like sentinels at the 
corners of this fair oasis, and, pendent from their 
branches, thick vines, laden with grapes of three colors, 
wove a wall of living tapestry more excellent than even 
that of Bayeux. 

Near the water, upon the inner curve of the beach, 
clustered wild plum and cherry trees, covered in their 
season with fruit, while sweet fern, wild roses, and 
bayberry bushes perfumed the salt breath of the sea. 

An idyllic spot, and a favorite one with the summer 
merry-makers of old Plymouth until, in the time of the 
French Revolution, a great storm, followed by a mighty 
tide, swept across the beach, drowning the shrubs, bury- 
ing the sward in sand, and so poisoning the roots of the 
great trees that they soon died. 

Perhaps it was the back-water of that wave of 
Fraternity and Equality which brought all men to a 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON. 77 

level by destroying the pleasant things wherewith those 
of cultivated tastes had embellished the world. 

Forty years, however, still remained before that evil 
day, and little was it foreseen by the gay company 
gathered in the intervale upon a summer day, a century 
and a half ago, enjoying one of the picnics for which 
Plymouth was famous in the old time when everybody 
was everybody’s cousin, or at least kith, if not quite 
kin, and the town was one great family. 

The especial occasion of this picnic was to afford 
Colonel John Winslow, just home from the West Indies, 
and about to sail for Nova Scotia, an opportunity to 
meet his friends, and say a cheerful good-by. And 
surely the friends were here : Edward Winslow and the 
Warrens, of course, since the colonel was visiting his sis- 
ter Penelope, and the Whites and the Howlands, his 
near kin, and the Watsons and the LeBarons and the 
Lothrops and the Cottons, the Cushmans and the 
Thomases and the Bartletts, and Parson Leonard with 
his family, and many another for whom we have no 
room in this story, although the annals of Plymouth 
honor their deeds and names. 

Mrs. Lydia Bradford Cushman’s year of widowhood 
was over, and although she still wore mourning, it was 
of that gentle and mitigated style which proved vastly 
becoming to her blond beauty. She was escorted by 
her cousin, William Bradford, a gay young medical 
student, afterward of Bristol, R. I., and he had brought 
his friend, Nathaniel Goodwin. These two, with 
Abraham Hammatt, Joseph LeBaron, George Watson, 
Theophilus Cotton, and some other lively bachelors, 
having got themselves afloat very early to catch the cod 
for the chowder, besides helping Sam Burgess, of 


78 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Saquish, to dig clams for the “ bake,” now rewarded 
themselves for their industry by lounging under the 
trees with the girls, whom they helped or hindered in 
laying the cloth and spreading the feast, conversing the 
while in the wise and thoughtful manner characteristic 
of their time of life both in that day and in this. 

It was not long before this merry crowd perceived 
that Nat Goodwin, the handsome young stranger, had 
eyes and ears only for Lydia LeBaron, and that she 
was disposed to unbend in his favor from the rather 
scornful indifference it had been her wont to display 
toward the boys who had grown up with her, accept- 
ing his somewhat masterful suggestions with a touch of 
that docility hitherto reserved for her father. 

Colonel Winslow, meantime, had linked his arm in 
that of Lydia’s father, and, leading him down the beach, 
said, “ Come, Doctor, you and I will have a stroll, and 
may be taste a glass of bitters at the Sailor’s Joy out 
here.” 

For in those days a small public house standing in 
what is now blue water, between the Beacon and the 
Square Pier, was supported by mariners who thronged 
the bay and carried on the now dead-and-buried com- 
merce of Plymouth. 

“ With pleasure, Colonel,” replied the doctor cordially. 
“ This air is a tonic beyond the reach of Jesuits’ bark, 
and even without the bitters will give us appetite for 
the dainty vivers these dear creatures have provided. 
High tide, is it not ? Not even a ripple on Brown’s 
Island.” 

“Yes, as calm as a millpond, — as calm as it was 
on the day I rode across. You ’ve heard of that folly, 
have n’t you ? ” 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON. 79 

“ My brother Jim told me something about it, but I 
was in France at the time.” 

“ Yes, I remember ; but Jim was here, — very much 
here, poor old chap ! ” 

“ It was for a wager you did it, I believe ? ” suggested 
the doctor rather sharply, for James LeBaron was 
recently dead. 

“ No, not exactly,” replied the colonel, blandly uncon- 
scious of everybody’s interests but his own. “ I prefer to 
call it a strategic movement, and so brilliant a one that 
it shows I was born for a soldier. It was this way : A 
lot of us fellows, not one over three and twenty, and all 
full of the Old Harry, agreed to ride down Duxbury 
Beach to the Gurnet, and have a chowder at Burgess’s, — 
this man’s father, you know ; then we were to ride back 
and wind up with a supper at the Bunch of Grapes, 
and the last man in was to pay for the punch. Oh, 
Lord, what a set of dare-devils we were in those days, 
though we ’re sober enough now ! Lothrop ( as grave as 
a judge,’ and Warren, and White, and Watson, and 
’Sider Howland : they ’re all over here to-day, I vow, 
and many a stone heavier and many a wrinkle older, — 
well, well, well. But about the ride. I was mounted 
on King, that black stallion I had out from England, 
and the rest rode horses nearly as good, so we got over 
the ground, I assure you ; and what with the fatigue and 
the heat, and perhaps a drop of aqua vitae to keep the 
chowder from hurting us, we all felt a little lazy after 
dinner, and threw ourselves on the ground under 
Saquish Tree to smoke and chat awhile before we went 
home. 

“ The next thing I knew for certain was the sun setr 
ting over Kingston, and blazing full in my eyes. 


80 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and looked about me. I 
was all alone, and the leaves of the old linden were the 
only tongues that replied to my ‘ Hullo ! * 

“ I sprang to my feet, stamped a bit, said a strong 
word or two, and looked harder. No use ! I was as 
much alone as Adam before Eve’s arrival. Making my 
way back to Burgess’s, I met the old fellow chuckling 
so he scarce could stand, which gave me the chance to 
relieve my mind by another word of a sort, and presently 
he sobered down enough to tell me that my friends were 
all gone, but had left their love for me, and they would 
order the punch to save me the trouble when I came. 

“Well, sir, I stood a minute and thought over the 
position. Those fellows had an hour’s start, and they 
were certain not to linger by the way, for they knew 
King and they knew me ; but an hour is an hour, and 
if I burst my horse I could not overtake them. As I 
came to, this conclusion, old Eb, who had been watching 
my face, drawled out : — 

“ 4 Don’t see how you ’ll do it, young man, ’thout you 
ride acrost the harbor.’ 

“ I turned and looked at the water. It was dead low 
water, just the slack before the turn, and the channel at 
that point is not over half a mile wide from Saquish to 
the point of the beach, just about where we stand now ; 
then down the beach is three miles, and to the Bunch of 
Grapes say two to three more, — about six mile in all, 
while those fellows had fifteen to do. 

“ 4 You ’re right, Burgess,’ said I, ‘ that ’s my best 
course.’ And throwing my leg over King I headed 
him for the point. Lord! you ought to have heard 
that old man swear ! He was a little scared and a lit- 
tle puzzled, and that ’s the form his feelings took. Any- 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON. 


81 


way, he swore me into a good humor, so that I rode off 
laughing, and presently reached the edge of the water. 
King did n’t fancy my idea any more than Burgess did, 
but I soon persuaded him that I knew best, and once 
he was off his feet he swam gallantly and strongly. 

“ The tide turned while we were seaborne, and swept 
us down a little ; but we weathered it, and struck the 
beach just about this point, a little south of the Sailor’s 
Joy, — not then built, by the way. 

“ Once safe on terra firma, I loosened King’s girths, 
moistened my handkerchief with aqua vitae from my 
pocket flask and wiped out his mouth, poured the few 
last drops into my own mouth, and as soon as my horse 
was breathed, but before he was chilled, I mounted and 
rode merrily on to town. Half an hour later my party 
arrived, hot, dusty, and blown, to find me, cool and 
freshly dressed, compounding a mighty bowl of punch, 
for which Watson, lagging a little behind the rest, had 
to pay. Well, well, they were grand times, those ! ” 

“ For Homeric fellows like you,” replied the doctor, 
laughing rather cynically. “And were you the man 
who rode to Boston and back in one night for a 
lemon ? ” 

“ No, that was White, Cornelius White, of Marshfield ; 
brother of Gideon, who married Consider Howland’s 
sister Joanna, the other day.” 

“ Yes, I danced at the wedding.” 

“ I ’ll be bound you did, Doctor. Well, one night 
some time after my adventure, a lot of us met to make 
a night of it at the Bunch of Grapes, and by some mis- 
chance the lemons gave out just as we began to get into 
the thick of the fight. 

“ 1 If you fellows will swear to sit here till I come 


82 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


back, I ’ll fetch some lemons, if I go to Somewhere for 
them,’ says Corny White ; and Bartlett, the landlord, 
made reply, ‘ Guess you ’ll find ’em a little this side, 
say as nigh as Boston, but not nearer.’ 

“ ‘ Well, I ’ll try Boston first, anyhow,’ says Corny, 
and in five minutes he was on the road. It was the 
month of October, and the roads were in first-rate con- 
dition, and Corny had a good horse and knew how to 
ride him ; but it was a mighty rash undertaking, a reck- 
less kind of thing, risking his own life and his beast’s 
for nothing better than a lemon ! ” 

“ It was an attempt to rival your own exploit, Colo- 
nel. Well ! ” 

“Well, he did it, arriving in Boston about two o’clock 
in the morning ; and naturally finding the people abed 
and the shops closed, he rode down to the tavern in 
Elm Street, and hammered away with his whip-handle 
on the door until they got up and served him. Then 
he made them give his horse a mouthful of gruel and 
himself a toss of brandy, and was off again, with the 
net of lemons tied to his saddle. It ’s a matter of forty 
mile each way, you know, and he did the whole business 
in ten hours. 

“We all sat round the table, as we had promised, and 
a very long night it was ; but about seven o’clock we 
heard a horse come stumbling and faltering down the 
street, and we looked into each other’s haggard faces, a 
little ashamed of ourselves in the morning light. 

“ The poor beast fell flat the moment the rein was 
slacked, and never got up again, and the man had to be 
carried into the house, but — we had the lemons, and 
made the punch ! ” 

“ Hm ! Have a pinch of snuff, Colonel.” 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON. 


83 


“ I ’m obliged to you, Doctor. But all this idle talk 
is aside from the true business I had to speak of, and 
as we turn back I must lose no time in opening it. 

“ I dare say you have already heard that I am on the 
road to Nova Scotia, there to be under the orders of 
Governor Lawrence for a time, during the settlement of 
the boundaries between the French and English prov- 
inces, and I know not what exactly ; but I want to get 
you appointed surgeon of the troops, as your father 
was before you, only on the other side. Not only 
have I the profoundest appreciation of your skill and 
resource, but it will be a pleasure for me to have your 
companionship, while your knowledge of the French 
tongue will be of vast benefit to us all. Say you will 
come, my dear fellow, and your commission is but a 
matter of days.” 

The doctor walked thoughtfully on for a short dis- 
tance, his hands clasped behind him, his head dropped 
upon his breast ; not doubting his decision, but hesitating 
a little how to frame it. At last he said : — 

“ When France ceded Acadia, which you call Nova 
Scotia, to England, the habitans were allowed to take 
the oath of allegiance to Great Britain with the proviso 
that they were, under no circumstances, to be called 
upon to bear arms against France ; is it not so ? ” 

“Certainly. They are called the French Neutrals 
to-day.” 

“ Well, Colonel Winslow, I also am a French Neutral.” 

And the doctor faced his companion with a proud 
smile upon his lips, while a certain indefinable air of 
anoienne noblesse crept, quite unconsciously to himself, 
over and through the entire man. 

Winslow, descendant of the haughtiest of the Pil- 
grims, recognized the change, and appreciated it. 


84 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 

44 Your father’s blood is warm in your veins,” said he 
quietly. 

44 Yes, and it will not fight against his native land. 
We do not say these things aloud, Winslow, but I am 
a man without a home. When I was in France, the 
voices of the children prattling their native tongue 
thrilled me with delight, for so my father used to speak 
to me, an infant on his knee. And yet, I could not stay 
in France ; the air, so laden with the decay of a corrupt 
monarchy, was like that of a sick-room where they 
burn pastilles to cover loathsome odors. I longed for 
the untainted breath of Plymouth woods and shore ; 
yesterday again, when yonder Bordeaux trader came in, 
I went down on the wharf and spent an hour in listening 
to her sailors swearing in French. Take a pinch of 
snuff, Colonel.” 

44 1 see, I see,” said Winslow gently, but not joining 
in the other’s bitter laugh. 

44 In three generations, however,” pursued LeBaron, 
as the two men once more approached the merry camp- 
ing-ground, 44 one may expect a real transformation of 
most race-marks. My children are, or should be, Eng- 
lish colonists, if that is our nationality ” — 

44 Nay, we are Englishmen,” interposed Winslow 
proudly. 

44 Who never breathed English air,” was the quiet re- 
ply. 44 Oh well, oh well, Winslow, for all our pride of 
free-will we neither make nor mar the world’s destiny. 
A hundred years from to-day our great grandchildren 
will laugh at our blind ignorance, and God only knows 
of what nationality they will call themselves. Mean- 
time ” — and with a gesture of his handsome hand the 
doctor seemed to sweep the late conversation airily be- 


A LIFE FOR A LEMON . 


85 


hind him, — “ meantime, you ask me to go with you to 
Canada, and I reply with the man in Holy Writ, ‘I 
marry a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ ” 

“ You!” 

U 

“ And the lady, may I ask ? ” 

For reply, the doctor, stepping within the embowered 
lawn on whose limit they had paused, took a charming 
seek-no-further apple from a basket standing near, and, 
doffing his hat, offered it to the widow Cushman, say- 
ing softly, — 

“ For the fairest ! ” 


CHAPTER IX. 


QUASHO’S CALABASH. 

It was a golden September day, and some of the 
happiest inhabitants of Plymouth lay or crouched in 
the morning sunshine upon the gallery, or as they 
called it, the stoop, which ran across the back of Doctor 
LeBaron’s house, connecting two little additions recently 
made to the main body. One of these additions, known 
as Prince’s kitchen, was, with the bedrooms over it, the 
abiding place of the negro servants when not on duty, 
and the other was a scullery and wash-house ; the wide 
gallery connecting these, and also giving access to the 
main kitchen, was protected from the north, and, lying 
exposed to the east with a trend toward the south, was 
a deliciously warm and sunny spot. 

One of the principal duties of the mistress of the 
house had always been to guard this stoop from the 
poultry and the negroes, who both made constant if fur- 
tive efforts to roost there ; but now, alas, the house had 
no mistress, for David Bradford’s daughter, pretty, fair- 
haired widow Cushman, had gone to join that other 
“ Lydia, wife of Doctor Lazarus LeBaron,” upon Bury- 
ing Hill, and lay close by her side, in mute submission 
to the law that death makes all men comrades, be their 
lives never so opposed. 

And yet, fancy at the midnight hour those two Lydias 
standing, each a misty slender figure, at her own head- 


QUASHO’S CALABASH. 


87 


stone, and gazing each upon the other through the fog- 
laden moonlight ! Would Lydia Bartlett carry Lydia 
Bradford to creep with her into the doctor’s study, that 
room denied to both in life, and would she lay a ghostly 
finger upon the square of crimson harrateen and tell its 
story with a flickering smile ? 

At least we are sure that this first Lydia needed not 
to reproach the second with a stepmother’s harshness to 
her children, for she had been gentleness and self-denial 
personified, and the victim rather than the oppressor 
of Lydia LeBaron, until the latter married Nathaniel 
Goodwin and left her father’s house. Then roguish 
Mary married William Bradford, and Hannah was but 
now the bride of Benjamin Goodwin, brother to Lydia’s 
husband ; and Doctor LeBaron had, as trustee of his 
stepson Elkanah Cushman, sold the house on the corner 
of the Great Gutter to Ben and Hannah, giving as his 
whimsical reason that Pegasus had acquired such a 
habit of stopping there that it was best to have one of 
the family settled in the house. 

So Teresa remained alone of her mother’s daughters, 
and played with somewhat ludicrous effect the part of 
matron to her half-sister Elizabeth, commonly called 
Bess, a gentle maid of sixteen, and to little Priscilla 
and Margaret. 

To these four girls, must be added four boys, Isaac, 
Lemuel, Francis, and William, ranging in age from nine 
to eighteen, the torment and the delight, the terror and 
the boast, of old Pompey and Phyllis, who had become 
virtually the heads of the house, although a lady, called 
Aunt Nancy by everybody in town, had been a member 
of the family ever since the late Mistress LeBaron’s 
death, and was nominally housekeeper and duenna. 


88 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


After this long preamble we will return to the gallery, 
whose happy occupants were none other than the negroes, 
who, knowing that even Aunt Nancy was out, and the 
doctor on his rounds, sprawled in the sunshine, happily 
oblivious of any other need or duties. Pompey, gray- 
haired and imperious, sat upon the top step, a corn-cob 
pipe in his mouth, a mug of cider at his right hand ; his 
son Pompey, a fellow of fifteen or so, lay flat upon his 
stomach in the scorching sun, and as the marrow fried 
in his bones drummed his toes upon the hot boards in 
delicious content. Phyllis, his mother, disposed her 
amplitude in a splint-bottomed low rocking-chair, and 
also smoked. Prince and Quasho, fine hearty fellows 
in the prime of life, lounged upon the steps at Pompey’s 
feet, Prince smoking, and Quasho eating apples as usual, 
and throwing the cores to the ducks and hens who 
waddled, quacked, and cackled around his feet. 

“ Mis’able kind o’ work, dis heavin’ up yer anchor an’ 
gittin’ under way ebery odder minute,” remarked Prince, 
who had been to the Banks on his master’s account in 
the last season. 

“Don’ know ’bout ebery odder minute,” objected 
Quasho. “ I ain’t nebber moved but once in my life, 
an’ dat was from Afriky here.” 

“ Doos you remember w’en you come, unc’ Quash ? ” 
asked young Pompey, raising his head like a turtle. 

“ W ’y, ain’t you nebber heerd o’ dat ? ” exclaimed 
Phyllis, looking fondly upon her offspring. “ Law-d bless 
de chile, Quash, tell him all ’bout it.” 

“ Spec’s he ’s heerd it heap o’ times a’ready,” replied 
Quasho, rolling his eyes lazily toward the boy. “ But 
dere ’s plenty o’ folks jis like dem yer ducks : yer kin jis 
heave water ober ’em all day, and nebber wet dey skin.” 


QUASHO' S CALABASH. 89 

“Go ’long, Quash! Tell de chile all ’bout it ’fore 
Miss Nancy gets home.” 

“ Dunno w’at Miss Nancy ’s got ter say ’bout it,” 
replied Quasho superbly. “ She was a heap too old to 
know nuffin w’en I come here. Well, boy, it wuz jus 
dis way : it was froo stoppin to play w’en I was sent on 
an ar’nt dat I came in de mis’able fix w’at you sees me 
in now.” 

“ Dunno as you ’s so awful mis’able, unc’ Quash,” re- 
marked Pomp with a grin, but Quash gravely shook his 
head. 

“ Dere ’s lots o’ mis’ry chil’en don’ know nuffin ’bout ; 
dey ’s like young b’ars wid all dere troubles ahead of 
em. 

“ Dat ’s so, nigger ! ” sighed Prince, who was consumed 
with an unrequited passion for Nanny, Lawyer Hovey’s 
servant. 

“ Yes, Pomp, ef I ’d a minded my mammy, an’ 
fotched that ar cal’bash o’ water spry, you would n’ neb- 
ber ben ’quainted wid me,” resumed Quasho dolefully. 
“ Mos’ likely I’ d ’a ben eat up fore now, fer dat ’s de 
way mas ’ Doctor sez our folks gits der libbin ter home, 
an’ dat ’s w’y we ’d ought ter be so t’ankful to be fotched 
here, an’ wuk for our vittles. Min’ you be t’ankful all 
yer life long, Pomp.” 

“ But, unc’ Quash, I wa’ n’t born in dat yer place w’ere 
dey eats folks,” retorted Pomp, who knew how to read, 
and cipher almost as well as his young masters. 

“ Hm — well, I was, boy,” replied Quash, a little dis- 
concerted, — “ I was ; an’ I ’member ’s though it was 
yes’day how my mammy gib me big cal’bash one day, 
an’ tole me run lickety split down to de spring an’ fill 
it, ’cause she in awful hurry.” 


90 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Tell how she talk nigger talk, Quash,” suggested 
Phyllis, with a jovial chuckle. 

“ Mos’ forgotten how dat goes, but somefin like dis 
yer,” and Quasho gave utterance to a series of uncouth 
sounds, prominent among which was his own name. 

“ I heern yer say ‘Quasho ’ ! ” exclaimed Pomp, sitting 
upright in his excitement. 

“ Yes, boy, dat was my name, an’ I kep’ it ; wait till I 
tell yer how. W’en I got down to de spring, fus’ t’ing 
I do was ter take a drink o’ water, an’ de nex’ t’ing was 
ter lay flat on my back an’ stick my toes in der water, 
an’ paddle em up an’ down same as any odder pickaninny 
’d do ; fer I was a leetly bit ob a chile, — leetler dan 
Miss Marg’et, heap leetler. Lord, niggers, seems dough 
I see dat spring dis minute, wid de cocoapalms a-stan’in’ 
up so still an’ gran’, an’ de sky so blue an’ full o’ 
sunshine, an’ de hot air jis flickerin’ up an’ down ober 
de sand outside de grove, an’ de pooty pooty lil’ brook 
a-runnin’ ’way from de spring an’ gittin’ los’ outside. 
Seems as dough I see it now — Lordy ! ” 

“ Pore ole mammy ! ” said Phyllis, wiping away a 
ready tear with one end of her turban bow. 

“ Yes, I s’pose she felt bad — jes’ lil’ while ; but pore 
folks don’ keer long,” and Quasho shook his head, with 
the gloomy cynicism of an habitually merry fellow. 

“ W’y, wot happened nex’ ? ” demanded Pomp, who 
knew well enough, but liked to hear the story. 

“ W’y, boy, de nex’ t’ing, w’ile I lay dere a-paddlin’ 
my feet an’ starin’ up at dem cocoanuts agin de blue 
sky, I heern a leetly rustle in de bushes ahint me, an’ 
somefin — a man’s hat, I reckon — was flopped inter my 
face, an’ ’fore I ’d got bref enough back to holler, a 
great big han’ stopped up my mouf an’ nose, an’ some- 


QUASHO'S CALABASH. 


91 


buddy ’nother was totin’ me off from de bushes fas’ as 
a hoss kin trot. ’T was one o’ dem slave-dealers, yer 
see, an’ I nebber knew noffin more till I was board ship 
boun’ fer Merikey. 

“ Pore ole mammy ! I alluz keep a-cunjurin’ up how 
she looked w’en she foun’ dat cal’bash on de groun’ an’ 
de marks o’ white man’s shoes in de san’. Well, boy, I 
don’ rightly know how I came down yere, but de fust I 
’member ’bout Plymouf is a-settin’ on a leetly creepy- 
stool in de chimbly corner inside yere, an’ maum Phyl- 
lis a-rubbin my han’s, rubbin’ em good ” — 

“ Lors, yis, honey, an’ so I did,” cried Phyllis, laugh- 
ing until her fat sides shook, and rocking herself back- 
ward and forward in the old splint chair, which creaked 
and groaned as if it were laughing too. 

“ De frozenes’ lilly nigger eber I see, — jis done come 
offen de schooner from Bos’n, an’ mos’ ’bout dead wid 
cole, an’ scare, an’ mammy-sickness ! ” 

“ Lawd, yes ! ” ejaculated old Pompey solemnly. 
“Don’ pear’s dough ’t was de same nigger nohow.” 

“ Den maum Phyllis git me good bowl o’ hasty pud’n 
an’ milk, an’ a piece o’ ginger cake, an’ a doughnut, an 
I donno as I ’s ben hungry, not reel downright hungry, 
sence, — dey was so fill’n. Nex ting was, mas’r Doctor 
a-tryin’ an’ a-contrivin’ to git holt o’ my name, an w’en 
I see wot he wanted I tole him Quasho Quando, for dat 
waz wat mammy sez w’en she gib me dat cal’bash to go 
an’ fetch some water, an’ I s’pose it wuz my name ; so 
I sez Quasho Quando ebery time mas’r Doctor spoke ; 
but ebery time he ’d shake his head kind o’ solemn an’ 
say, 6 No, boy, you name is Jul’us Caesar. Now wot 
you name ? ’ An’ I’d say Quasho Quando. Den he 
gib me lilly tap side de head, an’ say berry solemn an’ 


92 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


stric’, ‘ Say Jul’us Csesar, boy ! ’ an’ I ’d say ‘ Quasho 
Quando, mas’r,’ ’cause Phyllis had teached me say Mas’r 
an’ Mist’ss. Well, pore ole mas’r he contrive an’ he 
conjur’ ebery sort ob a way fer to make me outen 
Quashy an’ inter Jul’us, but ’t wa’n’t a mite o’ use. He 
sen’ me ter bed widouten supper, an’ he lick me some, — 
drefful kin’ o’ sof’ly, dough, an’ he show me an ole sojer 
hat wid feath’s into it dat he ’d gib me, an’ Lord sake 
I couldn’ begin fer to tell all de ways he wucked an’ 
wucked, an’ one way wa’n’t no better dan t’oder, an’ at 
las’ he gib in, an’ Quasho Quando ” — 

“ That ’s it, Quash, that ’s the way you always tell it,” 
broke in a merry voice, as two little girls appeared at 
the door, followed by a tall slender maiden, whose dark 
eyes and hair, and complexion rich and colorless as a 
magnolia blossom, were the reproduction of some for- 
gotten strain in the LeBaron blood. 

“ Golly, missy, should n’ scare a pore nig’ dat way ! ” 
exclaimed Quash, lumbering to his feet, as did all the 
rest, although Teresa had not opened her lips, and the 
interruption had come from merry little Margaret, who 
with Priscilla, her grave and silent sister, leaned forward 
out of the black background of the kitchen like a couple 
of rosebuds grouped with a stately lily. 

“ It is after eleven, Phyllis,” said Teresa, in a voice 
harmonizing with her complexion ; but at that moment 
the sound of clattering hoofs and whirling wheels, min- 
gled with shrieks, exclamations, and shouts, arose upon 
the sultry summer air in strange discordance with the 
hour and scene. 

The negroes dashed around the corner of the house 
and out into the street, while Teresa and her little sis- 
ters ran hastily to the front to look through the great 
bow-window filling one end of the keeping-room. 


CHAPTER X. 


MOTHER CREWE AT WORK ; AND HOW TO MAKE CHEESE > 
CAKES. 

Probably the LeBaron boys were no worse than 
other boys, but they managed to be more conspicuous 
in their naughtiness than their neighbors ; so that when 
any notorious piece of mischief, such as cutting the rope 
of the church bell, putting pins in the schoolmaster’s 
chair, or laying trains of gunpowder to explode under 
the feet of the titliingman as he pursued Sunday loi- 
terers down some alley, or round some corner, came to 
the public notice, everybody asked : — 

“ Was it Frank, or Lem, or Bill ? ” 

A few years earlier, they had said, “ Bart or Isaac, 
— which was it ? ” But now, Bartlett was distinguish- 
ing himself at Harvard, where some stories, too amusing 
to print, still linger around his memory; and Isaac, 
having donned the toga virilis, and begun to study with 
his father, as had his two step-brothers, Lazarus and 
Joseph, felt in a manner compelled to lay aside childish 
things, and devote his sparkling sense of fun to the 
amusement of the young ladies, especially Martha How- 
land, whose society he much frequented. But Francis, 
Lemuel, and William, aged respectively thirteen, eleven, 
and nine, had come under no obligations as yet, except 
to extract the maximum of fun from the minimum of 
penalty, and devoted all their leisure time to a process 


94 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


discovered long before their day, although not until 
long after did it become picturesquely known as “ paint- 
ing the town red.” 

So when Josiah Cook, wandering home one day about 
noon, had to stumble very fast out of the road to es- 
cape a horse attached to a light carriage, and with a 
thrifty burdock plant attached to him, which he kept in 
place by the pressure of his own tail, the man ex- 
claimed wrathfully, — “ Them LeBaron boys ! ” and 
stood staring after the runaway, while the horse, dash- 
ing along School Street and through Town Square, 
turned the sharp corner into Main Street just as a little 
boy set out to cross it, and, hearing the horse, faltered, 
turned back, stood still, and as he wavered was over- 
taken by swift destruction, for the horse, swerving as he 
saw him, upset the carriage, fell down himself, and 
crushed the child beneath the wheel, while the flying 
hoofs threatened a yet more terrible catastrophe. 

“ Save him ! oh, somebody save my little brother ! ” 
screamed a girl’s voice, and a slender, ill-clad figure 
darted across the street and into the midst of that 
plunging disaster, but was captured and held back by 
the strong arm of a young man who at sound of danger 
had rushed out from the Bunch of Grapes hard at hand. 

“ Here, somebody ! Bear a hand and hold this girl ! ” 
shouted he ; and Isaac LeBaron springing forward, 
caught the struggling figure, while the first comer, raising 
the wheel by a prodigious exertion held it up with one 
hand and managed to drag the child out with the other. 

“ Cut that horse free, some of you, can’t you ? ” 
roared he, as at the last moment a hoof caught him 
upon the leg and nearly broke it ; but still he clung to 
his helpless burden, and with free use of his elbows ex- 


MOTHER CREWE AT WORK. 95 

tricated himself from the crowd already gathered, and 
quite able to attend to the horse. 

“ Take the child into the Bunch of Grapes !” 

u No, carry him right home ! ” 

“ Bring him into my house, and come you too, 
Samson.” 

At sound of this last voice, everybody looked around 
with an air of relief ; for Doctor LeBaron stood next to 
Providence in the minds of many a one there, and now 
that he had joined the group all seemed ready to leave 
the responsibility with him. 

“ This way, Samson, and you too, Yetmercy,” ordered 
he briefly, leading the way to a little surgery, added in 
the later years to the northwestern corner of his house. 

Shutting and bolting the door in face of all but the 
two he had bidden, the doctor laid the child upon a 
couch, and hastily examined his hurts, the poor little 
fellow moaning faintly, but remaining unconscious. 

“Bad — hm — Yetmercy, go round to my kitchen 
and tell Phyllis to come here with some hot water and 
towels — pshaw, child, you ’re fit for nothing ! Sim, 
you go — you ’ll find the kitchen, and call the biggest 
negro woman Phyllis — tell her hot water and towels ! ” 

“ Yes, sir,” and Simeon Samson hastened away upon 
his errand, while Yetmercy, weak and emotional as 
Molly Peach, her mother, sat upon the floor and wept 
unrestrainedly. 

The doctor, busy over his patient, glanced compassion- 
ately at her from time to time, and finally asked : — 

“ Which one is this, Yetmercy ? What ’s his name, 
and how old ? ” 

“ Ich-a-bod, — he ’s sev-seven ! ” sobbed the girl. 


96 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Well, don’t you care anything about Ichabod, nor 
about your mother ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I c-c-care — oh — oh ” — 

“ If you cared any way worth having, you ’d try to do 
something for the boy, instead of sitting there and 
howling. I want somebody to help me get off these 
clothes, and there ’s nobody but you, and you ’re no use, 
none at all.” 

“ I ’ll try, sir, but mother says I ’m awful — er — er — 
tender-hearted,” and Yetmercy, rising, wiped her eyes, 
smoothed her hair with trembling fingers, and meekly 
stood ready to obey the directions of the doctor, who re- 
warded her with a pleasant smile, and “ That ’s right, 
my lass ! now take hold of this coat and draw it gently 
out as I raise him — there, now ! ” 

“ Here we are, Doctor, — Phyllis, and hot water, and 
swabs, and a young fellow ” — 

" Oh, it ’s you, Isaac. Well, come in and make your- 
self useful. Sit you down, Samson, and I ’ll look at that 
leg presently.” 

Poor little Ichabod ! The glory of life had indeed de- 
parted from his existence, for, besides a broken hip, 
there was an injury to the spine, for which the best hope 
was that it might soon be fatal. 

“ He ’ll never leave his bed again until he is carried 
from it to Burying Hill,” said the doctor in Samson’s 
ear, as he fingered and looked at the cut upon the young 
man’s leg. “ No bones broken here, but you’ll not get to 
the main-truck very easily for some weeks. Stay and 
have some dinner with us, Samson. I want to hear 
about your voyage.” 

“ Thank you, sir, 1 11 be proud to,” replied Samson 
cordially as the vision of a sweet pale face and great 


MOTHER CREWE AT WORK. 97 

dark eyes, just seen in the depths of the hall during 
his late errand, flashed upon his memory. 

“ Now, Isaac, that stretcher, and get Prince and Quash 
round to carry it. You and I will go along too, and 
see that it moves steadily.” 

“ Dinner ’s jes ready, mas’r,” interposed Phyllis, more 
respectfully than she ever spoke to any one else, “ an’ de 
chile kin lay here an’ me to take keer of him widout 
hurtin’ nobuddy fer an’ hour er so.” 

“ Very well, and perhaps better, for you can go home, 
Yetmercy, and have a bed ready downstairs, and get 
your mother somewhat prepared before we reach there. 
Now show yourself a brave little woman, and remember 
that ’s the way to let us know you really care for your 
little brother.” 

So Yetmercy, her great blue eyes swimming in tears, 
although she managed to restrain her sobs, set out for 
home, while Isaac hastily followed her for a few steps, 
and then turned back to his dinner. 

In spite of Phyllis’s morning lounge this meal proved 
an admirable one, consisting of a great piece of ala- 
mode beef, sweet potatoes, and turnips, cauliflower en- 
veloped in a fair mantle of cream sauce, and pickles 
both of native and West Indian production. 

Following this was a rice Florinda, a dish of cheese- 
cakes, and fruit in a curiously wrought basket of Delft 
ware. 

And just in passing let me copy for you, from Lydia 
LeBaron’s manuscript recipe-book, the rule by which 
those cheese-cakes were made ; for it solves the question 
most of us modern weaklings have asked ourselves as to 
the meaning of the name as applied to the vapid cates 
passing among us for cheese-cakes. 


98 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


TO MAKE CHEESE-CAKES. 

Take a quart of milk, and boyle it. Beat six Eggs 
and pore in while it boyles. Then take it off the fyre, 
and let it stand till its a tender Curd. Then strayne it 
thro a sive, put in a quarter of a pound of Butter, gill 
of Wine, two spoonfulls of Rosewater, mace beat fine. 
Strow in some Currants and sweeten it to your tast. 
Bake them in small pate-pans with puff past round 
them. None over the Top. 

And so in the “ tender Curd ” we have the idea of 
cheese , now forgotten. 

Simeon Samson thought them as delicious as the 
young gentleman in “ The Arabian Nights ” did the 
cream tarts, for his host, in offering them, said : — 

“ Have one of Tressy’s cheese-cakes. She ’s a famous 
hand at them, ’most as good as her sister Lyddy. 
You ’re sailing for Lyddy’s husband now, are n’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I ’m to command Goodwin & Warren’s 
brigantine, Lydia, next voyage,” replied the sailor, steal- 
ing a look at Teresa to see if she heard of his promo- 
tion. 

“ Yes. Nat named her for his wife and daughter. 
Lyddy ’s a favorite name in our family ; I wived two of 
them. Now, then, Quash, clear away these things and 
serve the coffee, for I ’m in a hurry to get up to 
Ring’s. Tressy, let us have the cauliflower cups in honor 
of Captain Samson.” 

“ Not captain yet, Doctor.” 

“ Pshaw, boy ! take all the credit you can get, if only 
for what you mean to do. You may never live to do it, 
you know.” 


MOTHER CREWE AT WORK. 


99 


“ If you will excuse me, father,” said the dulcet voice 
Samson had as yet scarce heard, “ I will fetch the cauli- 
flower cups myself, since Phyllis is not at hand.” 

“ As you like, daughter. A careful little housekeeper, 
you see, Captain.” 

“ Nothing becomes a young gentlewoman more, to my 
mind,” replied Samson ardently, and the doctor laughed, 
well pleased, while Teresa, a slight color showing 
through her creamy pallor, left the room, and presently 
returned, preceded by young Pomp, who opened and 
closed the doors while she carefully carried a wonderful 
carved tortoise-shell tray filled with cups, saucers, 
“sugar-dish ” and slop-basin of some forgotten but most 
precious pottery, each piece shaped with Dutch patience 
and loving zeal into the semblance of a half-opened 
cauliflower, apotheosis to the artist’s mind, no doubt, of 
his beloved cabbage. 

Placing these upon the table, Teresa quietly seated 
herself behind them, and poured for the guest a cup of 
some nectar whose nature he could not have described, 
until his host, pushing a little decanter toward him, 
said : — 

“ Lace your coffee with a drop of old Cognac, Cap- 
tain. ’T is a fashion I learned in Paris, and have never 
forgot. And for that matter, ’t is rather a foreign fash- 
ion to take coffee after dinner, but I like it, and find it 
a good stomachic. What think you ? ” 

“ ’T is the best I ever tasted,” replied Samson, gulp- 
ing down the coffee so hot that it brought tears to his 
eyes, and never seeing the decanter of Cognac. Again 
the doctor’s eyes twinkled, and pushing back his chair 
he said : — 

“ Well, I must be off. Come along, Isaac. Samson, 


L ed C 


100 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


don’t hurry yourself, especially as you are wounded. 
Tarry where you are for a while, and Teresa will give 
you a tune on her spinet, or, if you like it better, play 
you a game of draughts or backgammon. I leave him 
in your charge, Tressy.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


MOTHER CREWE IS PLEASED. 

In a wretched hovel upon the Carver road lived and 
died the family of Ansel Ring and his wife Molly, con- 
sisting, besides the parents, of three girls with one 
brother older, and one, poor little Ichabod, younger 
than themselves. Ansel, not much daunted at first by 
mother Crewe’s curse, had pursued his seafaring life, 
and as he was a strong, sober, and able-bodied seaman 
had no trouble in getting employment from one or other 
of the firms of shipping-merchants of Plymouth, then 
carrying on an active commerce with all parts of the 
world. 

But his fellow-sailors were also many of them his 
fellow-townsmen, and all the world knows how the 
pressure of immensity upon a sailor’s mind generally 
results in superstition, so that one scarcely wonders that, 
after two or three fatal mishaps upon the vessels rating 
Ansel Ring as A1 seaman, some of the other Plymouth 
men muttered the story of the curse to those who had 
not heard it, and others spoke menacingly of Jonahs 
who should be heaved overboard ; and the mates, gather- 
ing the cause of moody looks and dark hints, carried them 
to the captains, who laughed grimly and swore contemp. 
tuously at such notions, but next voyage did not accept 
Ring’s somewhat hang-dog offer of his services. 

At last came a day, in the March before this Septem- 


102 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


ber, when the Petrel, a coasting schooner of the Hedges, 
flew round the Gurnet, driven before a furious north- 
east gale, and, waiting for the tide, anchored off Dick’s 
flat. No sooner was this done than Ansel Ring, coming 
to the captain, demanded rather than requested the use 
of a boat to set himself ashore upon the beach ; for, as he 
passionately declared, he was afraid of his shipmates, 
and could no longer bear the “ marooning ” they were 
practicing upon him. 

“ They say mother Crewe has sent this gale to wreck 
the hooker here in port, and they swear if our anchor 
begins to drag they’ll take and heave me overboard 
first thing. I ’ve stood all I ’m going to stand, and this 
is the last time you ’ll ever see me afloat, if I starve for 
it. Let me have the dingy, Cap’n, and I ’ll leave her 
safe on the beach yander ; or if you don’t, I ’ll tumble 
overboard and make an end of it some way.” 

The captain opened his mouth to refuse and threaten 
confinement in irons, but catching the desperate and 
hunted look upon the man’s face suddenly changed his 
mind, and said almost gently : — 

“Do as you see fit, Ring, but neither the dingy nor 
any other boat can live in that surf. Better stick it out, 
man.” 

“ Thank y’, sir,” replied Ring, the hunted look soften- 
ing at the tone of human sympathy ; but it came too late, 
and after a moment’s hesitation he turned away, and all 
unaided began to lower the little boat. The captain also 
hesitated for a moment, then turned and went into his 
cabin, perhaps saying to himself, — 

“ Am I my brother’s keeper ? ” 

Well, the dingy could not live in the fury of the surf 
breaking thunderously upon Beach Point, and as the 


MOTHER CREWE IS PLEASED . 


103 


men who had hounded him to his death looked on, they 
saw the frail craft crushed like an eggshell, and their 
comrade snatched out and made the plaything of that 
monster, whose voice drowned his parting cry, if indeed 
he uttered any. Back and forward, over and over, up 
and down, that white Death tossed its prey, until, tired 
of the sport, it flung the poor battered, broken, and oh, 
so ghastly a plaything, up upon the beach, the stump of 
an oar still grasped in its hand, and the wreck of the 
dingy strewed beside it, as if in bitter gibe at man’s 
attempt to ride in safety over that angry sea. 

Very silently, when the storm was over, those seamen 
brought the body of their Jonah to the town, and to the 
poor home where his wife waited for him. Upon the 
threshold they met mother Crewe, who, somehow, no- 
body ever knew how, had heard the evil tidings before 
any one else in town, and hastened to bring them to 
Molly Ring. 

That day was six months gone by, and now, as the 
little procession bringing poor Ichabod to his home ap- 
proached the house, it was confronted by the ominous 
figure of the old woman suddenly rising from the door- 
step, where she had awaited its coming. 

“ Molly ! Molly Peach ! ” croaked she, striking her 
staff upon the stone, “ come out and welcome your child. 
The foundations of the cursed city were laid in the 
blood of the firstborn, and the posts were set up in the 
bones of the youngest, and so it shall be, and so it is, 
with you ! ” 

Isaac LeBaron, who had gone a little in advance of 
the litter, which his father followed on horseback, heard 
the words, and although not fully understanding them 
read their intent upon the white, scared face of Yet- 


104 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


mercy, who stood in the doorway, and he impetuously 
sprang forth as her champion. 

“ Hold your tongue, mother Crewe ! ” cried he, put- 
ting out a hand to remove her from the path. “ What a 
wicked old woman you are, to be glad of other folk’s 
mishaps ! Out of the way, I say ! ” 

“ Have a care, Master Isaac ! Have a care ! Touch 
me with just the point of a finger, and I ’ll wither your 
arm to the shoulder ! ” And the crone fixed upon the 
young man’s face a look blazing with the fires of insanity, 
or of demoniacal possession, as folk then said, and 
somewhat in that look struck through his hot young 
blood like the blast from an iceberg. Quite involunta- 
rily he shrank back, and the old woman laughed as she 
strode past. 

“ Yes, have a care, boy, have a care ! She has blue 
eyes and pink cheeks, and so had her mother before her, 
but she is under the curse, and it ’s catching, catching as 
small-pox. Have a care, Isaac LeBaron, have a care ! ” 
And as she rapidly climbed the hill beyond the cabin, her 
mocking laugh came back, mingled with the croak of 
a pair of crows who seemed to accompany her. 

“ What was that old witch saying, Isaac ? ” asked his 
father, dismounting. “ But never mind now. Is the bed 
all ready, Yetmercy ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, but poor mother, she ’s fallen down on it. 
She felt bad enough, and then mother Crewe came and 
just finished her up.” 

“ That woman ! ” muttered the doctor, hastening into 
the house, followed by the girl. 

Not many hours later a dead baby was born, the 
last of Ansel Ring’s doomed children, and for a while 
it seemed as if his mother would follow him ; but, with 


MOTHER CREWE IS PLEASED. 


105 


perhaps unfortunate skill, Doctor LeBaron held her 
to life, and in a few days pronounced her safe, and 
made over the care of her convalescence, and of Icha- 
bod’s lingering death-in-life, to Isaac, who largely inher- 
ited the family skill in chirurgery, as the old folk still 
called the healing art. 

And Yetmercy, caring both for the querulous mother 
and the suffering brother, who slowly lapsed from bad 
to worse, still found her labors lightened and her heart 
cheered marvelously by the visits of the young doctor, 
and the brief moments through which he lingered after 
the visits were over. 

Mother Crewe, who in some obscure fashion had re- 
moved from Plympton to Plymouth, and gained posses- 
sion of a little hut upon the edge of Carver woods, per- 
haps to be near enough to overlook the working of her 
curse, watched the progress of this intimacy ; some- 
times listening under the windows as the evenings grew 
long and misty, sometimes hovering among the hillside 
thickets above the house, sometimes suddenly appearing 
in the path of the young couple, as Yetmercy strolled 
down the road, hearing the doctor’s last words, and 
asking some simple question over and over, just to post- 
pone the good-by. 

At these times the old woman never spoke, in fact 
rather avoided giving the opportunity for speech, but 
the baleful light of those cavernous eyes, and the malig- 
nant glee of the half-heard laugh floating back when 
she had passed, so chilled the simple girl’s blood that 
more than once she clung crying to the arm of her 
companion, who, in the pride of his young manhood, 
promised to shield her from all harm and all enemies. 

Had Doctor Lazarus LeBaron been as vigilant in this 


106 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


matter as mother Crewe, much woe might have been 
averted from his house, but two important matters at 
this time distracted his attention. 

The first was, that Nathaniel Goodwin, husband of 
Lydia, having made a good deal of money in the course 
of commerce, became able, as he always had been will- 
ing, to give his wife a home worthy of what they both 
agreed were her merits, and suggesting the idea to his 
father-in-law received the unexpected answer : — 

“ Give her this, if you like.” 

“ What, your own house, Doctor ? ” 

“ Yes. I ’m tired of it. Three Lyddys have gone 
out of it, and left it too empty. I sha’n’t marry again, 
and — well, in point of fact, Nat, the house I ’m build- 
ing there on Cole’s Hill, over the cellar of the old Cot- 
ton parsonage, is where I mean to live.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Nat, a good deal surprised ; for it 
had been the doctor’s whim to keep his intentions 
strictly to himself, and everybody, even Return Waite, 
of whom he bought the old Cotton parsonage, supposed 
that the new house going up on its site would be sold 
or leased. 

So Lydia Goodwin came back to reign in the house 
where she had reigned as Lydia LeBaron, and the 
doctor, with his four remaining daughters and the four 
sons of his second marriage, went to live on Cole’s Hill, 
next to Giles Rickard, whom the doctor quietly divided 
from himself by an open way, still called LeBaron’s 
Alley. Building this house at his leisure and after his 
own plans, the doctor’s first care was to provide himself 
with a study the exact counterpart of the old one ; and 
the night before the general Hegira, he packed all the 
contents of that mysterious chamber with his own 


MOTHER CREWE IS PLEASED. 107 


hands, allowing Quasho to help him carry the heavy 
furniture downstairs and place it in the cart at the 
door. Before morning, all was duly arranged in the 
new room precisely as it had been in the old, the lock 
removed from the one door to the other, and the same 
key turned and deposited safely in the pocket of the 
doctor’s smallclothes. 

“Now, Quasho Quando,” said the doctor, as master 
and man came out of the new house and walked beside 
the cart toward their old home, “ you are never, never, 
mind you, to your dying day, to tell any one what you 
and I have been about to-night. If you do, I shall be 
sure to know it, and that flogging promised you for so 
many years will come at last.” 

“ Ain’t mite ’fraid dat floggin’,” replied Quasho con- 
fidently, — “ mas’r an I ’s got too ole an’ ’spectable for 
any sech doin’s : but,” with a sudden change of voice, 
“ reck’n mas’r kin trust me widout any dat kin’ o’ talk.” 

The doctor stopped and held out his hand in the dim 
starlight. 

“ Quash,” said he, “ I beg your pardon.” 

“ Oh, Lord, mas’r, don’t — don’t ye, now,” quavered 
the poor fellow, and off came his old hat, and down on 
his knees he went in the dust to kiss the hand which 
had never once been seriously raised against him. 

“ Good-night, boy,” was all the doctor said, as he softly 
let himself into the house, but master and man were 
closer friends from that night. 

The second cause detaining the doctor from proper 
supervision of his assistant was something more tragic 
than this episode. 

One of the coasting schooners always dodging in and 
out of Plymouth, one day left a sick sailor ashore, and 


108 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 

Doctor LeBaron, when called to consider his case, 
looked very blank over it, and presently had to confide 
to his brother selectmen that here was another case of 
small-pox, a scourge under which Plymouth had al- 
ready suffered grievously, and which was the more to 
be dreaded that most men in that day considered it 
useless to contend against it, while many thought it im- 
pious to try. 

Doctor Zabdiel Boylston, of Boston, had some years 
before this time attempted to introduce the practice of 
inoculation, a movement of science brought by Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu from the East to England, 
where she herself practiced it upon as many persons as 
would submit. 

But Lady Mary was a woman, and was not a Puri- 
tan, and Boston folk would none of her ; in fact, so ill 
did they receive Doctor Boylston’s attempt to imitate 
her practice that they decided hanging was the best 
remedy for such unnatural propensities, and would 
probably have carried out their decision in his case, had 
not the Reverend Cotton Mather, a man not ordinarily 
erring upon the side of mercy, stood forth in his de- 
fense, and offered himself and all his family as subjects 
for the new treatment. 

Now Doctor Lazarus LeBaron was a friend of Doc- 
tor Boylston’s and often rode or sailed to Boston to 
confer with him. He did so several times during the 
inoculation excitement, and was well inclined to adopt 
it ; but at the first suggestion of such a thing in his na- 
tive town, he perceived that the time was not yet ripe 
for it. In fact, Parson Leonard scrupled not to say 
that much learning had made the doctor mad, and had 
opened the door for a malignant spirit to enter in, and 


MOTHER CREWE IS PLEASED. 


109 


fill his mind with homicidal projects ; and in a private 
interview, the good man solemnly recited a form of ex- 
orcism over the head of his deluded brother, and for- 
mally consigned to his proper abode the fiend who was 
tempting him to blasphemous rebellion against the fore- 
ordained chastisements of the Almighty . 1 

Whether the fiend went whither he was sent we can- 
not tell, but certainly the doctor said nothing more 
about inoculation for a good many years, one reason 
being that the small-pox capriciously deserted Plym- 
outh as suddenly as it had appeared. But the arrival 
of this sick sailor, and the anxiety as to what might be 
the sequel of the affair, brought back to the doctor’s 
mind all his old doubts and scruples about neglecting 
what might be, and indeed probably was, a powerful 
means of defense against this terrible foe. 

The sick man, already delirious, was carried by night 
to a lonely cabin on the edge of the woods in Oberry, a 
by-corner of the town, and great wages were offered by 
the selectmen to any woman who would undertake to 
care for him. The next day, the doctor, going with 
many precautions to visit his patient, found mother 
Crewe sitting beside him. 

“ You ! ” exclaimed he, in a voice of unconcealed dis- 
may. 

“ Me, sure enough,” croaked the hag, with her raven 
laugh. “ And why not ? I ’m as good a nuss as most, 
ain’t I ? Was n’t my gal nussed well ? And I ’ve had 
the small-pox as thorough as a woman could have it 
and live. Why not me ? ” 

“ Well, if you do your duty by this poor fellow, and 
keep away from everybody else,” replied the doctor, 
1 A fact. 


110 DR. Le BARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


reluctantly ; and hurriedly making his examination and 
leaving some medicines, with an injunction to keep the 
patient warmly covered, and not to allow a breath of 
fresh air to reach him, he took his leave, returning, not 
to the bosom of his family, but to the study, where he 
lived in strict seclusion until this case should be de- 
cided. 

“ And so soon as it is,” said the doctor aloud, as he 
paced his lonely room up and down, “ I will go to 
Boston, see Boylston, and get some of the virus he 
speaks of gathering now from kine ; he will teach me 
how to apply it, and if no one else in Plymouth is safe 
my children shall be.” 

The sound of horse’s feet halting before his house 
led him to the window. 

A handsome if somewhat masculine girl was dis- 
mounting at the door. 

“ Yes, Tressy shall be safe if I can make her so,” 
said the doctor, staring absently at the visitor, whom he 
did not know. 

And Lachesis smiled at Clotho, as the one twisted in 
her black thread and the other span it. 


CHAPTER Xn. 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Could Doctor LeBaron, as he looked moodily from 
his study window upon the horse and rider stopping at 
his door, have known the message and foreseen the re- 
sult of that visit, his calm indifference might well have 
changed to a passion of grief and dismay. 

And yet the steed was a goodly one, not black, but 
cheerful sorrel, and the rider was young and comely, 
albeit somewhat of the Judith, or Jael, or Deborah 
style of beauty ; indeed, her name was Deborah, and she 
looked it more fairly than most of us do our names ; a 
fine figure, too, tall and well set up, with a round supple 
waist and flat back, and large well-shapen hands, whose 
grasp upon the rein no sensible horse would ever try to 
dispute. 

Looking about her a little, this fair Amazon presently 
espied a kinky head, and pair of beady eyes surveying 
her around the corner of the house, and promptly hailed 
them. 

“ Here, boy ! I want you.” 

“ Yes, mist’ss ; ” and young Pompey, adding a pleas- 
ing grin to his other attractions, sauntered out of the 
alley where he had hid for purposes of his own. 

“ Is Mistress Teresa LeBaron at home ? ” 

“Yes, mist’ss, Mis’ Tressy jus’ done gone upsta’rs.” 

“Well, take my horse and open the front door, and 
tell her that a gentlewoman craves to speak with her.” 


112 DR. LeBARON AND EIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Shorely, mist’ss. Walk right in, dis a way, an’ set 
down. I ’ll take the hoss roun’, an’ send word to Mis’ 
Tressy.” 

Having established the visitor in the parlor and the 
horse in the shed, young Pompey strolled into the 
kitchen, to assuage that thirst for information which 
was one of his leading characteristics. 

“ S’pose you done tole Mis’ Tressy ’bout de lady dat 
come fer ter see her, mammy ? ” began he. 

“ Uncle Quash tole her,” replied Phyllis with brev- 
ity, as she deftly shoveled her pies into the brick oven, 
whose heat she had just tested by sprinkling some flour 
upon the bottom. 

“ An’ how d’ y’ call her, unc’ Quash ? ” 

“ How does I call her uncle Quash ! W’y, I does n’ 
call her any such ting. Dat my name, not hern.” 

“ Well, w’at is her name, den? ” 

“ Ah ! W’y did n’ yer ask dat honest in de fus’ place, 
boy ? Alluz be hones’, ’cause dat’s de bes’ policy. 
Now ef you ’d ’a’ asked honest, mabbe I ’d ’a’ told 
yer ” — 

“ No, you would n\ I know you better,” retorted 
young Pomp, in so aggrieved a tone that his mother in- 
terposed. 

“ Go ’long, now, Quash ! W’at for ’s you alluz pla- 
guin’ dat young one ? W’at ’s de young mist’ss name, 
anyhow ? ” 

“W’y, aun’ Phyllis, I’d tell yer in a minit, if I 
knowed it, but I don’ ; all she said w’en I went in de 
parlor was, ‘ Please tell Mistress Teresa LeBaron that 
a gentlewoman would like to speak with her.’ ” 

“ Jes’ wat she said to me,” remarked young Pomp. 

“ Mabbe ’t was Mist’ss Hetty Lord from Kingston,” 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


113 


suggested Prince, who had just come in upon an errand 
from Mistress Lydia Goodwin, whose servant he now 
was. 

“ Mist’ss Hetty Lord I ” echoed Quash meditatively. 
u Well, mabbe ; ’t ain’t to be ’spected a pore sinful nigger 
like me will know any of de Lord’s fam’ly by sight, 
but I ’s mighty glad ef He ’s sent to fotch one of mas’r’s 
gals, for I swear de debble ’ll git all de boys.” 

“ Go long wid yer, boy ! ” exclaimed Phyllis, in 
buxom wrath. “ ’ T is easy ’nough ter see you wa’n’t 
nebber converted. Go wait on de door w’en de young 
mist’ss goes out ; an’ Pomp, as soon as she ’s took her 
horse, you tackle up Whitefoot in de wagon, and go 
long up to Souf Pond an’ git me a bar’l of white sand 
for my floors. I tole you dat dis mornin’.” 

“A lady to see me,” murmured Teresa, stepping 
lightly down the stair. “ Who can it be ! ” 

Nor was the question answered as she entered the 
great square parlor, looking easterly to the sea and north- 
erly to Captain’s Hill, its furniture and arrangements 
as nearly as possible a reproduction of the room where 
Squire Lothrop and James Warren had awaited the 
doctor some years before. 

Instead of those stately gentlemen, the slender figure 
of a girl, her rather remarkable height accented by 
her close-fitting riding habit, stood motionless at one of 
the eastern windows, gazing so steadfastly upon the sea 
that she did not heed the gentle entrance of her hostess, 
until the latter said : — 

“You wish to see me, madam ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” and turning suddenly, the stranger showed 
a dark face, undeniably handsome, but somewhat over- 
determined and powerful for so young a woman, since 


114 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


she could hardly have seen more than twenty birthdays. 
“ You are Mistress Teresa LeBaron ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And I am Deborah Cushing, of Hingham. Master 
Cushing of the school here is my brother, and Seth 
Cushing is my father.” 

“I — we know Master Cushing a little,” said Teresa 
faltering, “ I am afraid my brothers give him a vast of 
trouble ; perhaps he has sent you ” — 

The stranger laughed a little harshly. “ Sent me to 
chide you for your brothers’ misdeeds ! ” exclaimed she. 
“ Well, no, not just that. I came on my own occasions 
— and yours.” 

“ Will you sit down ? ” said Teresa, pointing to one of 
the great square armchairs standing sentinel-like each 
side of the hearth. “I — I shall be very glad ” — Some- 
thing in her throat choked the utterance, and sinking 
into the chair opposite that of her guest she looked wist- 
fully into her face, while the color sank from her own, 
even to the lips. Deborah Cushing regarded her atten- 
tively, almost scornfully. 

“ You try to say you will be very glad to pleasure 
me if you can, and some fright at your own words 
chokes them back again. Is it not so ? ” 

“ Yes. How can you tell ? ” 

“ Lord, child, I read it on your face like print, and 
glad am I not to be of so pliable a make. Pluck up a 
spirit, girl, and don’t be a coward, though you ’re but 
a woman.” 

“ Pardon me, Mistress Cushing, but it seems to me 
you are a little overbold in so judging and advising a 
stranger. Please to make known your business with 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


115 


“ Nay, let me consider you a moment first, and do you 
take no offense where none is meant. So timid a mo- 
ment back, and so delicate-stately now ! ’T is like a toy 
some sailor man brought to my sister Lyddy : the figure 
of a man, with a stick in his hand, and you could cuff it 
this way or that, it bowed to the ground with the blow ; 
but so soon as you drew back your hand, up it jumped, 
and fetched you a crack with the stick made the water 
spring from your eyes.” 

“ Your errand, please.” 

“ Nay, now, be not so stiff and proud with a maid 
like yourself. I wish you no ill, Teresa, indeed I do 
not.” 

“ You hardly could wish a stranger ill, madam.” 

“ Well, well, you proud peat, be as offish as you will, 
but it fits not with such pride to steal away another 
girl’s man.” 

“ What ! — I — I do not understand ! ” 

“ I forced your guard there, my dear ! Oh, I know 
the art of fence as well as my brothers, and have 
claimed first blood before to-day.” 

“ Tell me, I beseech you, what you mean.” 

“Well, then, in sober sadness, Teresa, how much 
thought have you of Simeon Samson ? ” 

“ Good heavens, Mistress Cushing ” — 

“ Call me Deborah ; ’t will make the matter simpler 
and freer.” 

“ How can you ask me — why should you — Oh, what 
is it to you, maiden ? ” 

“Child, ’tis — Come, now, don’t cry. I’m like a 
man in that ; I never can abide to see another cry ; and 
if I fain must cry myself, ’t is like tearing the heart out 
of my body, and leaves me as wounded. There, there, 


116 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


dear, I ’ll tell thee what I never told him or thought to 
tell any one, — I love him, and ’t is life or death to me 
to have him.” 

“ Is he promised to you ? ” 

“Yes, and no. Had he been really promised, there 
had been no need for me to come here; the man’s 
word ’s as good as another’s oath. And had he not 
been pledged in a way, I had not been here, for I am 
no pirate to seize what is not mine own; a letter of 
marque, may be, armed for reprisal, but no worse.” 

“ How could he come here, then ” — began Teresa, 
but paused, her face dyed scarlet, as she remembered 
her father’s authoritative invitations and encourage- 
ment to the man he had openly elected as his son-in- 
law. 

“ How could he come here ? ” echoed Deborah. “ Yes, 
that is what I want to know. Of one thing I am sure : 
he has never spoken to you of marriage, Teresa ? ” 

“ No, never.” 

“ And how much hath he really said ? Nay, now, 
be neither shy nor proud with me, girl. Don’t you see 
that here are three lives, three worthy lives too, set 
upon the turn of the moment, and it befits you and 
me to put aside all pretty, yea-nay, maiden manners, 
and speak the truth as boldly as if we wore hose in- 
stead of petticoats. This man hath been my bachelor 
for a matter of three years, and if he has not spoken 
of marriage it was because we both knew that his sailor 
wage was not enough for him to keep a wife on, and 
1 was over young to leave my home. But six months 
ago he rode over to Hingham to tell me how he had got 
berth as mate on board the Lydia, your brother Good- 
win’s brigantine, and had promise of going captain next 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


117 


voyage, ‘ And then, Deborah,’ says he, ‘ I can take me 
a wife.’ You ’ll tell me, perhaps, he said not what wife, 
but had you seen his face, and heard his voice ” — 

“ You know me little, Deborah, or you would believe 
I never should seek by a quibble to set aside the truth. 
If the young man told you by look and voice that he 
asked you to be his wife, his words mattered little 
enough.” 

“ So proud, so proud, and yet so lissome and so gen- 
tle-sweet ! I hardly know to read you aright, maiden. 
I would not hurt so tender a thing ; mayhap I, who 
am so strong and fearless, could better fight against dis- 
appointment than a soft creature like you.” 

“ Nay, you said but now I was proud, and let me re- 
mind you, mistress, that what seems so valuable to you 
may not be of so much worth in my eyes.” 

“ Oh, you don’t care for Simeon Samson ! You 
have only amused yourself with his admiration ! You 
are like the Frenchwomen from whom you come, and 
are what they call a coquette ! ” 

But as Deborah poured forth her angry utterances, 
and rose from her chair to give them scope, Teresa rose 
too, turned deadly pale, looked helplessly toward the 
door, and sank down again. In an instant Deborah 
was at her side, kneeling with her arms around the 
other’s slender waist. 

“ There, there, now, I might have seen — great, 
coarse, stupid creature that I am, not to know you ’d 
turn at bay just like a doe defending her fawn ! For- 
give me, darling, for I love you, Teresa, I love you al- 
ready, and I see how that poor boy of mine forgot all 
else when he came anigh you. No wonder he despised 
such an one as me ! Ah me, maid, what shall we do, 


118 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


we two ! One must suffer, and I am the strongest ; it 
must be me ” — 

“ Nay, now, Deborah, wait, — wait but a moment till 
this faintness passes. Sit you down again, and be very 
still. I am a little overborne with it all.” 

“ Yes, I am too rough and rude to match with you 
in any fashion. Take your time ? mistress, — take your 
own time.” 

And rising with a motion that showed her shapely 
limbs to be filled with muscles of steel, the tall girl 
seated herself as she was bidden, and resting her chin 
upon her hand looked sadly out at the sea. 

In a moment Teresa spoke, and her voice, if a little 
chill, was very gentle. 

“ It would be churlish for me to deny some confi- 
dence in return for yours, Mistress Deborah, and I will 
confess that I have looked with interest upon Master 
Samson’s visits, especially as my father, who of course 
knew naught of this other matter, seemed to encourage 
them ” — 

“ The doctor knows a fine man when he sees him,” 
interposed Deborah, proudly. The doctor’s daughter 
smiled gently, and continued in the same hushed voice. 

“ Nor will I pretend to deny that Master Samson’s 
attentions were very particular while he stayed in Plym- 
outh. I should be sorry to have you fancy that I 
cared for him without warrant,” — the sweet, cold voice 
faltered a little, but presently went on, — “ and yet I 
can assure you most earnestly that never a word was 
spoke ” — 

“ ’T was you that said a while ago that words mat- 
tered little,” interrupted Deborah somewhat sullenly. 

“ Yes, but I pretend to no especial looks nor tones, 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


119 


at least so far as any prospect of the future might be 
meant,” replied Teresa, with patient dignity. “ I can 
see now that Master Samson was constrained in his 
own mind, and — ah, well — at any rate, he never told 
me that by next voyage he should be able to keep a 
wife. I do not claim him in any way ; he is yours to- 
day as much as ever he was.” 

“ Nay, you mean, perhaps, he is as much mine as you 
have power to give him to me ; but neither you hor I, 
maiden, can put him back where he stood before he 
ever saw your face, and heard your voice, and felt the 
something, whose name I know not, that encompasses 
your presence.” 

“ He will soon forget me, Deborah, and in all honesty 
I wish you happy with him, — as happy as you fancy 
you should be.” 

“ That ’s a two-sided wish ; you mean that my fancy 
outruns the possibility. But no matter ; I can judge bet- 
ter of that than you can. And now let me tell you, mis- 
tress, even to your proud, beautiful face, that I shall 
make Simeon Samson a better wife than you would ; 
for I love him as you never could, I love him a great 
deal better than I do myself, and I never shall stop to 
think whether he pays me all the observance and all 
the consideration that he should, and which you never 
will forgive to any man alive, be he sweetheart or hus- 
band. But I — why, I love him, girl, I love him as I 
do the sea, and the sky, and my own life, and all that 
makes life good ; I can give myself to him, and wil- 
lingly spend and be spent for his happiness, and his 
comfort, and his reputation, no matter what comes to 
me. I do believe, if he loved me not at all, I could do 
it, so long as he loved no other woman, — I could not 


120 dr. Lebanon and ms daughters. 


bear that, although even so, I could not cease to love 
him, but I would never see him. He is a man that 
needs a patient wife, for he is not patient himself ; he 
has a temper, and he claims obedience from those he 
governs, even as he gives loyal obedience to those above 
him ; but he cannot abide a lawgiver in his own house, 
nor must one mind a hasty word when he is vexed and 
weary.” 

44 And you are so meek that you can bear all this 
better than I ? ” asked Teresa, with a fine smile light- 
ing, but not softening, her dark eyes. 

44 Nay, I am not meek at all, and so it is somewhat 
I have to give to him,” replied Deborah triumphantly. 
44 When for his sake I go softly and speak gently and 
answer mildly, ’t is all as if I said, 4 1 love you, dear, I 
love you ! ’ You could not lay so much at his feet, for 
you have no fiend of a temper to overcome.” 

“No, Deborah, I could love none but God in that 
fashion, and in very truth I believe that He is my only 
love.” 

44 You ’re surely not a Papist ! ” exclaimed Deborah, 
starting back, and Teresa smiled ever so faintly as she 
replied : — 

44 No, but my grandsire was, and I know not that he 
was the worse for it.” 

44 Poor soul, he was a Frenchman, and knew no bet- 
ter, but we ” — 

44 Nay, let us not wander into new fields of difference. 
Your errand is done, and well done, mistress, and no 
more remains to say except Godspeed. May your mar- 
riage be very happy, and both you and he content to 
the end.” 

“ I would I could be content even now,” and Deborah, 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


121 


looked wistfully into the pure, pale face so calmly con- 
fronting her. 

“ How can you be less than content with what you 
sought so eagerly ? ” 

“ Oh, I cannot talk as you do, — I cannot tell why I 
am not content. You make no moan, you have not 
shed one tear or said one angry word, and yet I fear 
me there is a wound beneath that will drain your life 
dry. Upbraid me if you will, — claim the man, and 
who knows but even now I would give him to you ! 
But so pale, so proud, so still — and yet I do know it 
in mine own heart — so hurt ! ” 

“ You have no right to say it, no right to think it, no 
right to judge ! ” cried Teresa, a sudden flush staining 
her face and neck, and dying away instantly. “ You 
could not, if you would, give this man to me, for I would 
not have him. I — I — care not for him. . Deborah, 
would you indeed do me a pleasure ? ” 

“ Try me, lass ! ” 

“ Then set your wedding day as soon as may be. 
Captain Samson sails in the Lydia this day fortnight. 
Let him sail as your husband.” 

“ And that would pleasure you ? ” 

“ Ay, more than aught else.” 

“ Then, if he will have it so, it shall be so, although 
I had not thought of it.” 

A moment longer the two girls stood looking at each 
other, and then Deborah dropped upon her knees, and, 
twining her arms around the other’s waist, cried pite- 
ously, — 

“ Oh, dear maid, sweet maid, do not hate me ! You 
can spare him better than I could, for you have all 
heaven to comfort you. Say you forgive me, Teresa I ” 


122 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ I have naught to forgive. May God bless you and 
yours while life shall last.” 

And stooping, she pressed two cold soft lips upon 
the other’s brow, and slid gently from her clasp. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A TRAP. 

“ Hi ! Mother Crewe ! Mother Crewe ! ” 

“Well, who calls mother Crewe, in such a masterful 
fashion ? ” 

“ Isaac LeBaron. Come out here, old woman, till I 
speak with you.” 

“ Oho, my young master can’t take the trouble to 
alight, but the old woman must hobble out to him ! 
Well, then, here am I, worshipful Master Isaac Le- 
Baron, and what is your will?” 

“ My father has gone to Boston, and bade me come 
and see how John White fares to-day, and here is more 
medicine for him. I am bound for Carver to see other 
sick folk, so I cannot stay.” 

“ And if you could, I fear me even your skill, Master 
Isaac, would not much avail a man that hath been stark 
these six hours. But give me the med’cine. ’T will do 
another time.” 

“ Dead ? ” 

“ Ay, dead as Adam.” 

“In that case, my father bade me warn the select- 
men, and they will send some one to bury him. And 
you are to roll him in a tarred sheet, and lock the house 
before you leave him. You have the tar and all you 
need, he told me. Is there anything more to be said ? ” 

“ Naught, but thank y’ for your courtesy and your 
bounty, Master Isaac.” 


124 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


The young man colored angrily, for he had not been 
courteous, nor did his pockets contain a penny with 
which to bribe good will ; so affecting not to hear the 
old woman’s hint, he nodded slightly, set spurs to his 
horse, and rode on, a goodly and pleasant sight, in the 
clear summer morning, with the green leaves flecking 
the sunlight upon his path, and the pungent aroma of 
the bayberries rising around his horse’s hoofs. Mother 
Crewe looked after him, her toothless jaws working with a 
mouthful of unspoken evil thoughts, then shook her head 
with a smile more malevolent even than the thoughts. 

“Pity he must meddle and make with Molly Peach’s 
brood ! Pity so fine a springald should go down with 
them ! Well, I must have help ere I meddle with yon 
carcass.” 

And closing the door of the hut, the old woman hob- 
bled down the road, and presently came within sight of 
the widow Ring’s cottage, and Yetmercy on the door- 
step looking idly along the dusty road toward town. A 
gleam of malice crossed the face of the old witch, and 
hastening her footsteps she cried : — 

“ Did Master Isaac find you, Yetmercy ? ” 

“ Master Isaac ! ” exclaimed the girl, with a sudden 
color in her face, and eagerly advancing to meet her ene- 
my, “ No, I have not seen him ! Is he looking for me ? ” 
“ Ay, and I thought he went from me to find you. 
He wants you to give me some help up yonder.” 

“In the pest-house ? ” 

“ Nay, never turn white on such a little word as that. 
There ’s no danger now. Dr. Isaac bade me tell you 
so, and that it would greatly pleasure him to find you 
there when he comes back. Besides, the town gives a 
great reward for those who undertake that work, and 
money is none so plentiful in your house, Yetmercy.” 


A TRAP. 125 

“ No, — but if the young doctor bids me go, I ’ll go 
where no money would tempt me.” 

“ Ay, ay, I believe it well,” muttered the old woman, 
nodding her head and blinking her watery eyes like an 
owl at mid-day, as she stole sidelong looks at the pretty 
creature standing in the sunshine before her, and half 
relented of her purpose, but from the open window hard 
at hand came a querulous cry : — 

“ Yetmercy, where are you, child ? ” 

“ Here, mother, — coming,” replied the girl, and 
mother Crewe’s face darkened as she laid a claw upon 
the girl’s arm, whispering hurriedly, — 

“ Don’t let her keep you. Isaac will be there waiting 
for you, anon.” 

“ I ’ll come, certain true, I ’ll come,” replied Yetmercy, 
in the same tone. “Go on, mother Crewe, and I’ll 
be there as soon as you.” 

“ And don’t tell your mother aught about it, or she ’ll 
keep you.” 

“ No, I won’t. Go on, now, and I ’ll overtake you in 
five minutes.” 

“ And if Isaac comes before you, I ’ll bid him wait.” 

“ Yes, I shall surely be there.” 

“ Yes, my dear, well do I know you will,” chuckled 
the old woman, as she hobbled back toward the woods ; 
nor did any kind fate interpose to save her victim, who 
in fact arrived at the hut in the same moment as her- 
self. 

“ Now, child, to work, — why the man’s in a swound, 
surely ! ” — 

“ Oh, mother Crewe, he ’s dead ? ” 

“ Nay, child, ’t is but one of the weak spells he takes 
at times. Here, come and rub his hands betwixt yours, 


126 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


so, — a nd his arms — now rub him hearty and bring 
back the life ! ” 

“ Oh, Mother Crewe, it frightens me ! Sure the man 
is dead, the hand is so cold, so stiff, and ’tis so loathly 
too with these sores ! ” 

“ A murrain on you, girl ! And you hoping to be a 
doctor’s wife by and by ! What will he think of such 
a coward heart ? Come, now, here is the comb, 
straighten you his hair, and make him decent before the 
doctor comes.” 

“ But he is dead, — I know that he is dead, and I am 
afraid ! ” moaned the girl, taking the comb in her icy 
fingers, and passing it through the dead man’s hair. 

“ Say you so, Yetmercy ? Well, mayhap you ’re right 
after all, wench. You do indeed show a wondrous in- 
sight into all things, fitting that same doctor’s wife. 
Mayhap you ’re right, sweetheart, and the man is dead, 
but if so be, you ’re ready here to help me lay him out. 
There comb his hair, and curl it on your little fingers ; 
and here ’s a cloth, wash his face, and see if you can 
shut those staring eyes,” — 

“ Oh, I can’t, I can’t bear it, — let me go, — let me 
get out of this house, — oh, for God’s sake, let me go, 
mother Crewe, — let me — let me ! ” 

And frantic with terror the girl threw herself upon 
her tormentor and tried to force her from the door, but 
the old hag, laughing like a demon, stood fast and 
barred the way. 

“ What, going to leave the tryst before your sweet- 
heart comes ! Did not he bid you come and wait, and 
will you be the first to lose patience ! Nay, that man 
on the bed will never spoil. sport, he ’ll take no note of 
all the loving words and sweet kisses ” — 


A TRAP. 127 

“ Let me go, let me go — Isaac — oh — mother — 
oh, what is it ails me — let me go ” — 

She fell swooning on the floor, and mother Crewe 
stood for a moment looking down while the wild fire 
of insanity blazed in her eyes and flamed upon her 
cheek. Then lightly stirring the prostrate body with 
her foot, she raised a clenched hand toward heaven, cry- 
ing, — 

“ Bathsheba’s life against hers ! My own girl lay 
like this, and none pitied ! Life for life — ’t is God’s 
own law ! ” 

Then, closing the door, she set off for the town, and 
finding one of the selectmen reported that her patient 
was dead and that she had left Yetmercy Ring to guard 
the place until the proper officers should come to bury 
the dead. 

“But she has never had the sickness! Was not she 
afraid to go ? ” asked the selectman. 

“ Nay, she is sweet upon Isaac LeBaron, and thinks 
no danger can come where he is,” replied the old woman 
with a jeering laugh, and her hearer hastened to count 
out the pieces of silver which were the price of her 
treachery, and bid her begone out of his office. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


LUCY HAMMATT’s SUFFLET. 

“ Good morrow to you, Lucy ! ” 

“ Oh, ’t is you, Patty ! Good morrow, and what ’s the 
good word with you ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — seems to me you ’re always 
cooking. As for me, I hate it.” 

“ Ah, but you have n’t a goodman to cook for as I 
have. When the Captain ’s at home it ’s just a delight 
to set goodies before him and see how he savors them. 
Salt junk and sea-biscuit six months or a year running 
whet a man’s appetite for something more delicate.” 

“ And what will you have for dinner to-day ? May- 
hap I ’ll stay and draw up.” 

“ Do, and you ’ll be kindly welcome, Patty. The 
Captain loves to see a comely young face now and 
again, and your nephew Abr’am is never tired of Aunt 
Patty who is more of a cousin than an aunt to him.” 

“ After that sweet sop surely I ’ll stay. Shall I lay 
my calash in the bedroom ? ” And without waiting for 
reply Martha Howland carefully took off the lofty green 
silk structure resembling, as its name implied, the head 
of a caleche , that charming French carriage so disas- 
trous to the fame of La Belle Stewart, and having tight- 
ened the belt riding as high under her arms as Nature 
would permit, and tenderly patted and lightened up the 
curls clustering at either side her face, and seen that 


LUCY HAM MATTS SUFFLET. 129 

her monstrous comb stood erect at the back, she came 
back into the kitchen, asking, — 

44 Shall I do a hand’s turn for you, Lucy ? ” 

“ No, no ; sit you down in the great chair by the win- 
dow. You ’re quite too fine for anything useful. How 
happen you all dressed up before dinner ? ” 

44 Why, Betty LeBaron asked me to come and spend 
the day with her, and to meet her sweetheart, Ammy 
Robbins, the parson’s brother, you know.” 

“ Well, why did n’t you go ? ” asked Lucy Hammatt, 
absently, as she tasted and savored some golden com- 
pound in a wooden bowl. 

44 Why — I — well, — oh, never mind ! ” 

“ Why, Patty, what ’s upset you so ? You look fit to 
cry, you silly wench. What ’s to do, child ? ” 

44 Well, Betty Foster told me not half an hour ago, 
that they are all saying ” — 

44 Stop now, Patty ! Who ’s 4 they ’ ? ” 

44 Oh, Becca Fuller, and Molly and Nancy Mayhew, 
and the rest, I don’t know just who,” pouted Patty. 

44 Father always used to say that 4 maybees ’ did n’t fly 
except in May, and this is September, so never mind 
them, and Betty Foster had better read what the Apostle 
James says of the tongue. Come, now, what was it after 
all ? Tell me quick, before I put my cake to bake.” 

44 Well, she said they said I was courting Isaac 
LeBaron — there then ! ” 

44 And is it true, Patty ? ” 

44 You know it is n’t, Lucy Hammatt.” 

44 Well, then, what do you care ? Suppose they said 
I had but one leg and t’ other was a wooden one, d’ ye 
think ’t would fret me ? ” 

Patty laughed, displaying some white teeth and very 


180 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


pretty dimples, but as she settled herself in the great 
roundabout chair at the garden window she said, — 

“ Well, I could n’t go right along to the LeBarons’ 
after that, so I turned in here.” 

“ And you ’re welcome, dear, as I said before, but 
now just sit you quiet and look out o’ window, or where 
you will till I get my cake baking, and see to my din- 
ner. Come, now, Flora, ’t is time to clear out the bake- 
kettle, and have out the roaster. Where ’s Toby ? ” 

“ Just yere, mist’ss,” replied the portly but benignant 
negress, coming forward, while Toby, an imp of ten years 
old or thereabout, poked his head in at the garden door, 
concluded there was time for a few more somersaults, 
and disappeared. Martha Howland sat and looked about 
her, half pettish, half amused. It was a pleasant scene 
that met her eye. The great kitchen extending all 
across the back of the house opened by two windows 
and a door upon a garden sloping toward the sea, and 
filled to overflowing with those honest simple flowers 
that sufficed our grandmothers. Roses and lilies, and 
pinks, and sweet-williams, and hollyhocks, and mari- 
golds, and heart’s-ease, and “ daffies,” and jonquils, and 
daisies, and primroses, and a choice bed of “ flower-de- 
luce” crowded and struggled for room, and hastened 
each as soon as its season allowed, to shoulder out its 
predecessor, and flaunt abroad its banner of victory. 
Some basket bee-hives set at one side of a little plot of 
velvet turf, sent out their murmurous multitude to add 
the song of happy toil to the idle melodies of crickets 
and “ pipers ” and all the merry useless tribe of cicadae. 
The distant plash of the tide upon the beach came 
vaguely borne upon the wings of a wind that rustled 
among the lime tree leaves of Squire Watson’s new 


LUCY HAM MATTS SUFFLET. 


181 


plantation on North Street, and freighting itself with 
odors of dulce and kelp and such wild scents as are 
most sweet to dwellers by the sea, added as a tribute to 
the fair girl waiting to welcome his toying fingers in 
her hair, a hundred delicate breaths of autumn flowers 
and ripened fruit and honey-combs, and that strange, 
pungent, intoxicating, yet saddest of odors, that seems 
the very breath of early autumn, the smell of dying 
grass, and falling leaves, and shrinking sap, the fragrant 
dying kiss of summer. 

Some such thought, or rather, some such consciousness 
crossed the mind of the girl already saddened enough, 
as she chose to think, with her own concerns, and with 
an impatient sigh she turned from the window to look 
within. 

Here, at least, was a cheerful scene. The great open 
fireplace was so long that the mouth of the brick oven 
was inside the jamb, and there was ample room to step 
inside and, as Flora was now doing, to clear the oven 
by the summary process of flinging the charred brands 
upon the fire at the other end of the great cavern of a 
fireplace, where stood a pair of massive iron andirons 
or “ dogs ” as they were often called, each provided 
on the inner face with a strong hook on which to lay the 
spit when meat was to be roasted. 

Upborne by these dogs glowed a noble fire built in 
orthodox and approved style with mighty back log 
bedded in ashes that it might glow and char but not 
consume ; a generous forestick to act as a bulwark or 
sea-wall to hold the mighty flood of flame in place ; a 
mass of hearty oak sticks between, and when the fire 
was first lighted in the morning a crown and garniture 
of shavings, twigs, and such light feathery stuff as might 


132 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


suggest the ruddy foam of a sun-tipped sea. On the 
high mantle-tree shelf, just above the fire, lay the tinder 
box that was to set this mass of fuel alight, and surely 
in some bitter winter mornings, when even the banked- 
up back log gave no warmth to Flora’s freezing fingers, 
she may be pardoned for fancying that “ de debbel he 
very se’f,” got into “ dat yer ole tin’er-box, an’ would n’t 
lef him light up nohow.” 

Beside the tinder box stood an array of candlesticks, 
solid iron ones for kitchen use, japanned tin for bed- 
room lights, and two pair of goodly brass ones, to be 
placed on the tea-table or to light the housewife at her 
evening spinning, knitting, or sewing. The snuffers 
and the extinquishers were not wanting, and the row 
was closed with a couple of tin lanthorns and another 
of horn. From a mighty crane above the fire hung, 
upon their various pot-hooks, the jolly round tea-kettle 
murmuring low at its exile to the remotest corner, and 
a couple of pots, one exhaling a delicious odor of wine 
and spices in spite of the rim of rye dough “ luting ” 
the crevice between rim and lid, while two or three skil- 
lets, a sort of saucepan mounted upon legs, stood in va- 
rious degrees of remove from the fire each simmering at 
its appointed temperature. A smooth hickory board 
whereon to bake bannocks stood ready for use along 
with the “ creeper ” and its cousin the “ spider,” while 
in the bake-kettle, or Dutch oven just emptied of its 
embers by Flora, the mistress was tenderly placing her 
loaf of pound cake thickly sown with caraway seeds, 
to be presently covered closely with the hollowed lid 
heaped with live coals, and there to rise, and crisp, and 
brown in undisturbed fruition until after the bake-ket- 
tle was nearly cold, when the cake would emerge more 


LUCY HAM MATTS SUFFLET. 133 

perfect and more delicious than anything we degenerate 
feeders ever dream of. 

“ Is there aught for dinner beyond the seed-cake ? ” 
inquired saucy Patty, as her sister rose flushed and 
triumphant from her knees. “ ’T will be delicate if not 
very satisfying.” 

“ Were I to uncover yonder kettle,” replied Lucy, 
good-naturedly, “ I ’ll' warrant you ’d see as goodly a 
piece of ollymode beef as even mother ever set on 
table, and there ’s a plum-pudding boiling, and — oh, 
you ’ll see when dinner time comes. Now, Flora, get 
those pies in before your oven cools, and the dish of 
custard close at the mouth to take out first, — there, 
girl, now the door, push it in and chock the stick to 
hold it firm. That ’s right, and next you may put 
down the Carolina potatoes to boil, and at half past, 
the white ones. — Patty, you shall see me make my 
sufflet ! ’T is something new in these parts, I warrant 
you. The captain got me the resait from some great 
cook in London, but they say it came from France in 
the beginning, and may be you ’ll like it all the better, 
seeing that Ike LeBaron’s gran’ther was a mounseer.” 

“ Now, Lucy ” — 

“ There, there, call it unsaid, only don’t hinder me 
now to quarrel and make up. Toby, see if your master 
is in sight.” 

“ Yis ’m ; jes’ stannin’ at de corner here a’ laffin’ long 
o’ Mas’ Tom Howland.” 

“He’ll be in on the stroke of twelve — eight bells, 
as he calls it,” said the wife, seeming to amplify and 
heighten in person as she prepared for her grand chef 
d' oeuvre. Come, Flora, get up the dinner. Swing out 
the crane and take off the ollymode, so that I can 


134 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


make the sauce. Everything else is done but dishing, 
and that you can manage as well as I. Remember the 
wine sauce is to simmer till you take up the pudding. 
Are the vegetables ready ? ” 

“ Jes’ ready, mist’ss.” 

“Well, then, — there, the sauce is ready and you can 
dish the beef while I make the sufflet. Fetch the silver 
dish with the cover, and the wooden spit, and the dredg- 
ing-box, and a dish of sifted flour, and then the roll of 
butter that ’s cooling down the well, and, Toby, you be 
right on hand.” 

“ Wish ’t you had n’ nebber foun’ out how ter make 
dat ting,” grumbled Toby — ruefully glancing at the 
preparations, as he pulled off his jacket, remaining in 
a homespun shirt and trousers all of blue and white 
check, contrasting finely with his coffee-colored legs and 
feet. 

“ None o’ you’ saace, boy, ’thout you want you’ ears 
boxed,” remarked his mother sotto voce , but the mis- 
tress was too busy to be easily disturbed. With her 
comely arms bare to the elbow and her apron tied close 
up under her neck, she was jealously examining the 
long walnut rod, something like a ramrod, handed her 
by Chloe. Satisfied that it could not be cleaner, she 
floured her hands, and from the tin pail, beaded and 
dripping with the icy waters of the well, she took a roll 
of butter weighing about a pound, and carefully thrust 
the wooden spit through it lengthwise, balancing the 
weight as equally as possible. 

u What are you going to do, Lucy ! ” exclaimed 
Patty now thoroughly interested and coming toward 
the table. “ Not roast that butter ! ” 

“Just what I am going to do,” replied Mistress 
Hammatt briefly. “ Come, Toby ! ” 


LUCY HAM MATTS SUFFLET. 


135 


And Toby with a groan went down on his knees be- 
fore the fire, burned now to a fiery furnace of hickory 
coals. 

Laying the spit across the hooks on the inside of the 
great dogs the mistress seized the dredging-box obse- 
quiously handed her by Chloe, and as Toby turned the 
spit swiftly and steadily, she began shaking flour upon 
the revolving ball of butter, which before it could melt 
and drip was covered with a brown glaze of combined 
flour, butter, and crisp, such as* one used to see upon the 
breast of a well roasted chicken, but now sees only in 
the fond dreams of a childhood’s home. 

Of course, as the heat penetrated, the butter within 
broke lava-like through this thin outer crust, but being 
at once met with a fresh shower of dry flour became in 
turn an outer crust, to be broken through by a deeper 
eruption, and so on, and so on, for perhaps half an 
hour, during which arduous period Toby never ceased 
to twirl the spit, his mistress never ceased to shake the 
flour, being every now and then supplied with a fresh 
dredging-box by the delighted Flora, and Patty, cool 
and fresh in her muslin gown and cherry ribbons, never 
ceased to marvel and exclaim. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Lucy at length, straightening 
her back, and pushing the hair from her streaming 
forehead. “ That ’s done, and a dainty bit you ’ll find 
it, Miss Patty ! ” 

“It had need be, for the work it cost,” remarked 
Patty dryly, as she watched her sister deftly deposit the 
souffle, now a frothing, bubbling mass of golden brown 
crisp, five or six times its original size, in a handsome 
silver dish, and put the cover over it. 

“ Is everything else on the table, Chloe ? ” 


136 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Yes’m, and Mas’ Cap’n done sharped de carvin’ 
knife two, tree times over.” 

“ Ay, he ’s hungry, — that ’s good ! ” murmured the 
wife, from the bedroom where she was hastily washing 
her face and hands and smoothing her hair. 

“ You looked roasted yourself, Lu,” said her sister, as 
the elder emerged drawing down her sleeves. <k Before 
I ’d do as much as that for any man ! ” — 

“ That shows you don’t love any man,” coolly replied 
Lucy. “ Come along, child.” 

And the two passed down the cool dim hall to the 
dining-room, looking out upon the King’s Highway. 
Here awaiting them stood the captain, a good many 
years older than when we saw him last, and ripened 
from a handsome stripling to a comely middle-aged man, 
tall and large of frame, dark of skin, both by nature 
and long exposure, but with the same keen hazel eyes 
and masterful mouth as of yore, and with an air of 
mingled authority and great personal kindliness upon 
his firm large features. 

“ Patty ! W elcome, my lass ! Come to see after your 
sailor-brother, or is it a motherly oversight of Abe and 
Lucy ? She ’s up in Boston visiting her uncle William, 
and Abe ’s gone fishing with Ike LeBaron, — won’t be 
home till the flow o’ the tide, and that’s bedtime.” 

“ Ask a blessing, husband, and let us sit down,” in- 
terrupted the housewife impatiently. “ There ’s a suf- 
flet, and that you know can’t stand.” 

“ Oh ! ” — And resolutely closing his eyes against 
temptations, the captain invoked a hasty blessing, and 
then sitting down, cried, — 

“ Off with the cover, Luce, and let us feast our eyes, 
before we do our palates.” 


LUCY HAM MATTS SUFFLET. 


137 


u ’ T is tolerably successful, I hope,” said Lucy, tak- 
ing off the cover and handing it to Toby, now in his 
jacket and slippers, and modestly gazing upon the 
seething and tremulous volcano before her. 

“ I should say so,” replied her husband heartily. “ I 
tell you what it is, Patty Howland, a man that gets Lucy 
Hammatt’s sister for a wife is a lucky man, and so I 
shall tell Ike LeBaron the first time I see him.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE KING IS DEAD ! LONG LIVE THE KING ! 

“ The pusson nex’ door want speak to you, sah, w’en 
you done breakfas,” announced Quashy, coming into the 
room where Doctor LeBaron with his daughters Eliza- 
beth, Priscilla, and Margaret, and their brothers Fran- 
cis and William, sat at breakfast. 

“ The person next door ? What, the new tenant ? ” 
And the doctor smiled grimly. 

“ No, sah, not Mas’ Joseph, but de carpenter pusson, 
to’der side our alley.” 

“ Wby don’t you say Master Rickard or William 
Rickard, you idiot ? ” 

“ Did n’ know as he was anybody’s mas’r, sah. He ’s 
in de kitchen wid he hat on.” 

“ Quash, you ’re both an anachronism and an exotic. 
Go show Mr. Rickard into my office. Now, Bess, I 
shall have to leave you at both ends of the table; 
Frank and Bill, look out you don’t make your sister any 
trouble, or I ’ll show you into the office myself.” 

The office, in a little northerly extension of the house, 
had a door upon the alley dividing the LeBaron estate 
from that of Giles Rickard, and here the doctor pres- 
ently found his visitor filling up the doorway with his 
gaunt loose-jointed figure, and thoughtfully surveying 
his own premises from the vantage ground of the two 


THE KING IS DEAD ! 139 

“ Ah> good morning, neighbor Rickard ! There ’s no 
place like home to you, is there ? ” 

“ Well, doctor, I don’t know ; perhaps I don’t justly 
take in your meaning, but I was thinking my grapes 
was about ready to gather, and seem a leetle forrarder 
than yours, now, don’t they ? ” 

“ Like enough, neighbor, I have no time to look after 
them and the negroes are careless. You ’re not ailing 
this morning ? ” 

4< Thank the Lord I ’m never ailing, Doctor. No 
sir, I only stepped in, in a kind o’ neighbor fashion, to 
ask you to just throw an eye over this little account, 
that I ’m a-going to render in to the town for building 
the new parsonage. It ’s most six months now since 
Mr. Robbins’s folks moved in, and I’ve been kind o’ 
tinkering round ’long as I had time ” — 

“The parson’s wife has complained bitterly that you 
never found time to put up the shelves and hooks and 
such conveniences that were promised,” interrupted the 
doctor rather severely. Rickard looked slowly and 
shamefacedly at him. 

“ Well, doctor, I ’ll allow these little puttering jobs 
do kind o’ hang in the wind ; you see there was Deacon 
Foster’s barn had got to be shingled ’fore the fall rains 
come on, and then Squire Watson would n’t take no for 
an answer, but I ’d got to set up his new fence, and so 
— but I guess we ’ll call the parsonage job done now, 
and I ’ll send in this little mite of a bill for the balance 
of the work, next town-meeting, if you think it’s all ship- 
shape, and above board.” 

“ Want I should take a private view, before I inspect 
it officially, eh ? ” 

“ Well, yes, Doctor, something so. Here ’t is.” 


140 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


And from the pocket of his leather breeches, the 
carpenter produced a small and dirty piece of paper 
which the doctor, smoothing out upon his table, read 
aloud : — 

Town of Plymouth to William Rickard , Dr 

Finishing the entray with Brackett Sta’rs and win- 
scutt the hoi ....... £52.10. 0 

Finishing the two front rooms with Brest-work 

over the Chimneys Shelves and Cornishing . . £50.00. 0 

Finishing the two front chambers and Entray with 

common carving ...... £29.00. 0 

Finishing the two back chambers .... £25.00. 0 

Finishing the bedroom with shelves and mop- 

boards £20.00. 0 

Finishing the ciching and back stars with all the 

conveniences common £18.00. 0 

£194. 10s. 0 d 

“ Why, yes, I don’t see but that is all fair, Mr. Rick- 
ard,” said the doctor, smiling a little, as he returned the 
bill, “ and I will certainly advise my brother selectmen 
to approve and settle the account as soon as presented. 
I hear that you are thinking of moving, Rickard.” 

“Well, yes, Doctor, I some think of it. The old 
house has gone out of our hands — fact, folks call it the 
Allyne house sometimes, right to my face, though its 
been Rickard property a hundred years or more, but 
now father ’s sold out for good and all to Squire Loth- 
rop, and bein’ a tenant on your own land don’t seem to 
set well on my stomach, and I guess I ’ll be jogging be- 
fore long.” 

“We shall be sorry to lose our neighbors,” replied 
the doctor pleasantly. “ Your father and I set off this 
alley, half from each estate, and that is in some sort a 
link though it be a division.” 


THE KING IS DEAD! 


141 


“ They call it LeJBaron’s Alley, though, — never Rick- 
ard’s Alley, that I know of,” replied the man slowly. 
“ We Rickards are one of the old anncient fam’lies that 
have run their race, and now had better get out of 
sight and say no more about it. But Rickards lived 
in Plymouth before Lothrops ever came off o’ Cape 
Cod.” 

And with an air of wounded dignity, the carpenter 
made two strides across the alley and in at his father’s 
garden gate, while the doctor, with a smile of somewhat 
pensive humor upon his face, put on his hat and coat, 
and strolled into the street. Next to his own house 
stood a smaller one built by his stepfather Return Waite, 
but now owned by the doctor, and occupied by his son 
Joseph, who some years before this, had married Parson 
Leonard’s pretty daughter Sarah. Next to this, after- 
ward known as the Churchill house, stood a comfortable, 
substantial new house, with garden ground around it, 
and a comely young matron standing at the door. 

“ Good morrow to you, Mrs. Jlobbins,” said the doc- 
tor, taking his hat quite off his head. “ I am happy to 
hear from Rickard that your house is entirely finished 
at last.” 

“ If we call it finished, Doctor,” replied the parson’s 
wife, with a dubious smile. " I suppose a man would 
call it done.” 

“ But a little healthful exercise remains for the dom- 
inie,” suggested the doctor. 

“ Mr. Robbins has no time for mechanical labors,” — 
began the young wife, rather primly, but was interrupted 
by a genial voice, as a handsome though somewhat 
portly figure stepped past her out of the door. 

“ Good morning to you, Doctor ! Is my wife telling 
ill tales of me to my own deacon ? ” 


142 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Good morrow to you, Parson, but the ill tales are 
no more certain than that I am a deacon, or shall be.” 

“ Yes, yes, Doctor LeBaron, you must serve the Lord 
like the rest of us, when you are called to it. Why 
I — good-by Jennie, for a little time ” — 

And with an affectionate look into his wife’s eyes, the 
parson stepped down, and moving along by the doctor’s 
side, continued in a lower tone, — 

“ I depend upon you, sir, as a man older than my- 
self, a godly physician of the body, as I of the soul, and 
one who knows this place and people, as a stranger can- 
not. It is an awful responsibility, Doctor, yes, awful to 
be placed, as one who must give account for their souls, 
over one’s fellow mortals, and already I feel at times to 
say with Moses, ‘ I am not able to bear all this people 
alone, because it is too heavy for me,’ and I fear indeed 
that, having preached to others, I shall at the last be 
found a castaway.” 

The doctor’s eyes rested keenly upon the speaker’s 
face, marking the painful flush, the knitted brow, the 
tense lines about the mouth, and then slipping his hand 
within the other’s arm, he turned his footsteps up the 
steep ascent of Burying Hill, while he slowly an- 
swered, — 

“ It seems to me, brother, that one set apart for 
Moses’ work, should strive rather for Moses’ faith and 
reliance upon' God, than echo those impatient sayings 
and lapses of confidence which in the end led to his 
notable punishment.” 

“ True, true indeed ! ” murmured the young divine. 
“ Unstable as water — a faithless shepherd — a sloth- 
ful servant ! ” 

“ Nay, now, Parson, nay,” interrupted the doctor in a 


THE KING IS DEAD ! 


143 


lighter tone, “ ’t is no better than selfconceit to turn 
Moses and the prophets and the gospels into accusation 
against yourself. It is only Paul who dared call him- 
self chief among sinners, — for my part I am content 
to rank myself among the multitude, bad enough, no 
doubt, but not excelling, even in wickedness.” 

“Perhaps that is more salutary humility than the 
other,” said the minister, pondering. 

“ ’T is more likely to be true. But come, now, par- 
son, if you do really feel that my experience of this 
people, and the fact of my having after my own fashion 
served the Lord for more than twice your lifetime, 
make me an adviser who can be of use — a sort of 
Joshua to your Moses, able to bear up your hands when 
human strength fails, — why, I will be your deacon if 
the church calls me to it.” 

“ And in the name of the Lord we both serve, I thank 
you most heartily ” — 

“ One moment, please ! As I understand this office 
of deacon, there is no spiritual charge laid upon me, 
nothing answerable to the office of deacon in the English 
Church, where it is the first step in Holy Orders ? ” 

“ Oh no, oh no. Our deacons in the Calvinistic re- 
form of the old Church, are more like those of the 
Primitive time, Stephen, Philip, and the rest, men set 
apart to serve tables, succor the poor, see that all things 
are done decently and in order, and look after the tem- 
poralities of the church; the office is not that of a 
ruling elder, like our venerable Brother Faunce, so lately 
gone to his rest. That office will now, I think, fall into 
disuse.” 

“ So be it, then, — ah, there is my old friend, Leonard. 
I heard he was in town.” 


144 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“Then I will leave you,” replied the minister, hur- 
riedly. “ The Reverend Mr. Leonard and I hold certain 
points of difference ” — 

“Being an older man, he is not so rigid as to the 
lines limiting salvation,” suggested the doctor, with his 
whimsical smile ; but his companion merely bowed hur- 
riedly, and pursued his way over the hill, while LeBaron 
swerving to the left, climbed the steep little ascent, 
once the eastern face of the Pilgrim Fort, and joined 
the gaunt, worn figure of the man who stood with folded 
arms and fixed gaze, looking down upon the village at 
his feet, even as Myles Standish, a hundred and thirty 
years earlier, had stood upon the selfsame spot, and 
watched the Mayflower swinging at her anchor, while 
he pondered the possibilities of the future. 

“ Hi, neighbor ! Glad to see you again,” cried the 
doctor, panting a little over the shrewd ascent. 

“ And I am glad to see you, sir. I was thinking to 
enter your doors once more before I leave this place, 
forever.” 

“ And so you shall ; come and eat your dinner with 
me to-day, and many a day beside I hope.” 

“ Nay, the Lord hath told me that my time is at hand. 
I came hither to-day to look once more upon the place 
where I, all unworthy, served Him for five and thirty 
years, and strove with His people even in their own 
despite, if by any means I might save some ; — and yet, 
I fear me, I fear me ! ” — 

“ Truly, friend, if the Lord is as hard and as grudging 
a master as you parsons make Him out, it is but sorry 
work to try to serve Him.” 

“ What, does yon sleek and comely youth, with his 
college honors and his skill in tongues, and his adherence 


THE KING IS DEAD! 


145 


to the most straitest sect, — does he find the field a 
thorny one, and the talent a sore responsibility ? ” asked 
Leonard, excitement blazing in his haggard eyes, and a 
bitter smile playing about his mouth. 

“He feels his responsibility as an honest minister 
must do,” replied the doctor cautiously. “'Are you for 
a walk, minister ? I have to go and visit a woman just 
by here, at Prince’s Bottom, and the good folk will be 
glad enough to see you, too.” But the sore-hearted man 
did not hear him. 

“ When I look over this village, and think how I have 
toiled among its people,” exclaimed he, waving a gaunt 
arm over the peaceful view spread out at his feet, 
“ when I consider how I tried every means, perhaps 
unlawful and ill-advised means, when I brought Gilbert 
Tennant here, and set him to cry aloud, as a watchman 
who sees the enemy coming on apace ” — 

“ Ay, but when he cried aloud from the pulpit, that 
two thirds of our communicants then partaking of the 
Lord’s Supper, were unconverted men and women, what- 
ever else he said was swallowed up in the obloquy of 
such an accusation,” interrupted the doctor, rather 
hotly, for both he and his wife had been among those 
communicants. 

“ Well, well, — there was George Whitefield, later on ; 
none could say that he was lacking in charity, or Chris- 
tain courtesy.” 

“ No, he was a wonderful — a truly wonderful 
preacher.” 

“ And it was I who brought him to Plymouth, and 
gave my people this added means of grace ! ” exclaimed 
Leonard. “ Yes, and it was I who moved men’s hearts 
to renew the house of God, fallen to decay. It was I 


146 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


who visiting from house to house, so exhorted, so pleaded, 
so insisted, that even the children gave their pennies, 
and the women their hoarded shillings into the treasury 
of the temple, and not eight years since, this goodly 
House at our feet was raised with prayer and thanks- 
giving, and they who were merry among us sang psalms, 
and joyful shouts of praise went up, and many a man 
grasped me by the hand and thanked me, that I had led 
them on to this good work. And now I stand here, a 
stranger, and an alien, and another man enters into my 
labors.” 

“ Do you see this grave, Parson ? ” 

“ Yes. ’T is that of Yetmercy Ring, is it not ? ” 

“ Ay, and that poor child died blessing you, who had 
not shrunk from her loathly disease, but had, like the true 
shepherd, carried her in your bosom until you placed 
her in the arms of her Saviour. Is not one such memory 
enough to sweeten a good deal of bitterness ? ” 

Leonard made no reply, but taking off his hat stood 
for a moment bareheaded, beside the lonely grave, not in 
prayer for the departed soul, which would have been to 
him a grievous sin, but perhaps laying a rebellious and 
disappointed heart at its Maker’s Feet. 

The doctor keenly eyed the face, thus bared to the 
scorching morning light, and saw there the shadows of 
a hand already poised to release the self-tormented 
spirit from its weary and decaying tabernacle, and as 
the parson resumed his hat, he once more placed his 
hand within his arm and gently said, — 

“ After all, I ’ll drive instead of walking, and while 
Quash harnesses, we ’ll step in and see your Sarah and 
my Joe, and their pretty bantlings.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MARGOT. 

“ I AM going to take the chaise this morning, Bess ; 
do you want to drive with me ? ” 

“ Thank you, father, but I promised Phyllis I ’d help 
her do up the damsons and greengages to-day.” 

“ Ay, ay ; well, do enough to fit out two houses 
while you are about it. You’ll want something sweet 
to make up for home. I ’ll take Pris, where is she ? ” 

“ Oh what a pity, but she has gone to see Lucy 
Hammatt. I believe they were to ride into the woods 
after frost grapes.” 

“ And Lucy’s brother Abr’am was to go along and 
take care of them, I dare say ! Oh, well, the poor old 
father is to be left all alone, I see. Lyddy, and Molly, 
and Nan, all with homes of their own, and Tressy in 
the Barbadoes, and now, you ’re just on the wing, and 
Pris cares more for that swarthy lad than for any of 
her own kin, and my little Margaret is the only one 
who will remain to civilize this bear-garden of boys, — 
yes, and they are all marrying, too, but that does not so 
much matter.” 

“ O father, you do break my heart — in very truth 
1 will stay at home and that right joyfully if you need 
me!” 

“ And would you, lass ? ” demanded the father, taking 
his comely daughter by the shoulders, and gazing into 


14.8 dr. LeBARON and his daughters. 


her face. Not so beautiful a face as Teresa’s, not so 
grand and imposing as Lydia’s, but a very sweet and 
lovely face, pale, yet bright, and radiating a light of 
goodness that impressed every one who beheld it. Par- 
son Robbin’s brother Aminy thought it the most beauti- 
ful face in the world, and when those soft blue eyes 
smiled, ‘ yes,’ into his own, and the gentle lips promised 
that the new parsonage at Norfolk in Connecticut should 
not long lack a mistress, the young minister feared that 
earth was becoming too delightsome an abode for “a 
pilgrim and a stranger.” Those sweet lips and sweeter 
eyes are tremulous with tears just now, yet bravely 
answer, — 

“ In very truth I would, father.” 

“ Thou ’It make a good wife, girl, who art so good a 
daughter. Nay then, don’t mind my grumbling, Bess, 
— I’m getting an old man, and cross, but not such an 
ogre as to devour maidens’ lives. Kiss me, girl, and go 
to thy pickling and potting.” 

“ ’T is preserving, father ! ” And a showery laugh 
made sudden sunshine upon the face but now so piteous. 
“And, father dear, if you will take Margaret for the 
drive, I ’ll have her ready in a little minute.” 

“Yes, I ’ll take Margot. She ’ll chatter my head off, 
and drive away the sulks. Never mind her dress, I ’m 
only gqing out to Ponds, and they ’re not fastidious in 
toilets over there.” 

“ In five minutes, father.” 

And in little more the chaise was at the door, young 
P ompey anxiously smoothing away some patches of dust 
from the sorrel mare’s sleek sides and putting forelock 
and mane in their most becoming pose. 

“ Pomp, you have n’t combed that mare this morn- 


MARGOT. 149 

ing ! ” exclaimed the doctor sternly, as he placed a foot 
on the step. 

“W’y, mas’r, I done curry-comb him till I fotch 
blood an’ got scare. Unc’ Quash, he say w’en he hear 
parson talk ’bout all folkses made o’ dus’ an’ gwine back 
. to it, he alluz t’ink o’ ole Kate, an’ won’er ef she ain’ 
mos’ got back to de fus’ beginnin’.” 

“ See here, Pomp ! I think it ’s the dust in your 
jacket that gets on the mare, and I ’m going to tell your 
father he should take a nice limber hickory rod and try 
to get it out. As for Quash, he ’d better consider 
Deacon Foster’s Boston, and Mr. Barnes’s Nero, who 
were dealt with by the church, last Sunday ” — 

“ Here am I, papa ! ” interrupted a blithe voice, and 
a little maid of eight or ten bright summers darted out 
of the house and into the chaise followed by Elizabeth 
with a warm gray shawl in her hand. 

“ Nay, Peggy, but you must take this ; it will be cold 
on the shore road, and ” — 

" Throw it in, Bess ! I ’ll see that she wraps herself 
if there ’s need. Good-by, child.” 

“ Good-by, father, — be a good girl, Peggy.” 

“ Of course I ’ll be a good girl, for I shall be happy, 
and when I ’m happy I ’m always good.” 

“ Oh, that ’s your reading of it, is it, Miss Margot ? ” 
demanded her father, looking affectionately down at the 
sparkling and glowing little face upturned to his ; — a 
face that reminded one of Teresa’s, but more vivid, 
more mundane, more mutinous, and more combative. 

“ Reading of what, papa ? Oh, see, there ’s Becca 
Fuller and little Molly, I wonder if Molly don’t wish 
she were in my place and if she don’t wonder where 
we ’re going. Where are we going, papa ? ” 


150 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


“We’re going to Ponds, chatterbox, and first of all 
to the Miss Nourses. Then I want to take you to see a 
little girl of your own age who is very unhappy. Her 
mother is dying, and I don’t know where she will find 
a home. You can be kind to her and say something- 
comfortable, can’t you, Margot ? ” 

“ I don’t like people that are unhappy, papa, nor poor 
people, either,” replied the child decisively. “ They 
are so shady and I like the sunshine. Let us talk 
French now, papa.” 

“ But, Margot, this little girl is almost as French as 
you are. Your grandfather was a Frenchman, and her 
grandmother was a Frenchwoman, although, I dare say, 
they do not think as much about it as we do.” 

“ What is her name ? ” inquired Margaret, tentatively, 
“ the little girl’s, I mean.” 

“ Deborah Samson.” 

“ Oh, that ’s a very ugly name, and not at all French. 
Now I am Marguerite LeBaron, and that is very 
French.” 

“ You little monkey! Well, Deborah’s grandmother 
was named Bathsheba LeBroche, and she was a very 
elegant demoiselle who came from Paris with her father 
when I was a boy, and married one of the Bradfords, 
which brings her children kin with you, my dear, since 
your mother was a Bradford.” 

“ Why, Deborah Samson is the wife of that Captain 
Samson who used to bring me sugar-stick, and she lives 
in King Street now, and Tressy didn't like her — at 
least, she did n’t want me to talk about her — did Cap- 
tain Samson do anything naughty, or why didn’t he 
come any more to bring me sugar-stick and have his 
dinner ? ” 


MARGOT . 151 

“ See those gulls, Margot ! Ha, ’t is a fine sight, 
child, look you now ! ” 

And drawing rein on the crest of the hill just beyond 
Jabez’ Corner, the doctor leaned forward, his elbow on 
his knee, drinking in the beauty of that wonderfully 
beautiful view. 

“ Look, Margot, they are at work upon the lighthouse 
at the Gurnet’s Head. See the line like a spider’s 
thread against the blue sky ! ’T is the derrick they 
have set up to lift the stones to the top. And beyond, 
you can see the houses in Marshfield, and what a glory 
of color and light fills the sky, and sparkles on the sea ! 
Learn to see Nature, and to love her, child, and you ’ll 
spare yourself many a little fret and jar. Your wor- 
ricows are always short-sighted people.” 

“And there are one, two, oh, twenty ships coming in, 
papa. Some of them will be from the West Indies with 
fruit and sweeties for me. Perhaps one is from Barba- 
does and there is a box from Tressy. When will 
Tressy come home, papa ? ” 

“ Your brother needs her to look after him and his 
little ones,” replied the doctor, in a constrained voice. 
“ See there is a brig flying your brother Goodwin’s pri- 
vate signal ! Lyddy will have another silk gown.” 

“ She has too many now,” exclaimed the child, pet- 
tishly. “ She is too rustly, — I like nice soft people like 
Tressy and Bess. Papa, is there any ship there from 
France ? ” 

“ I cannot tell so far away, but prythee, little maid, 
why do you care so much for France, which you never 
saw ? Come, now, if we have time, instead of going to 
see Deborah Samson, we will drive to Oberry, where some 
of the French Neutrals live, and you shall try your skill 
in talking French with the little lasses there.” 


152 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


“ Oh, yes, papa, that will be fine, but how came 
French people in Oberry ? ” 

“ ’T is a sad story, Margot, yes, and a bad story, too. 
A great many years ago, much longer ago than when 
your grandfather came to this country, a company of 
emigrants from Normandy,” — 

“In the north of France, but we came from the 
south,” interrupted the child. 

“ Ay ? I am glad to know that, mademoiselle ! Pray 
how did you find it out ? But let me tell my story, and 
don’t interrupt. It is not good manners.” 

“ I will be gentile ,” murmured Margot, with a little 
grimace, and the doctor went on in a dreamy sort of 
voice, — 

“ Coming trom tne norm, tney settled in the north of 
this country, and named their home Acadie, because it 
was so fair. It is now called Nova Scotia, and some 
hard, cold, money-getting people from England and 
Scotland call it their land and their home.” 

“ Well, papa ! ” — 

“ Oh, yes, — I was forgetting I had other company 
than my own. Well, dear, Acadie belonged then to 
France, but England wanted it, and so by purchase and 
by conquest it became hers. But these dear people 
of Acadie were not to be bought and sold like their 
lands, nor were they easily to be conquered, for they 
loved their own country, their beautiful France, and 
they would not even pretend to be the subjects of the 
enemy of France.” 

“ Is that England, papa ? ” 

“ Yes, child. So a few years ago, an army, and one 
of our townsmen in command of it — was sent to drive 
these people out, to scatter them up and down in a land 


MARGOT. 


153 


where they knew not the customs, or the language, or 
the means of livelihood, their property confiscated, 
their families divided, only their lives left, and they, 
ruined.” 

“ Oh, papa ! ” 

“ I warned you that it was a sad tale, child, and yet 
you should know it, for it is history. The English gov- 
ernment ordered, and our own townsman was so unfor- 
tunate as to be obliged to carry out the mandate, that 
the village of Grand Prd, in the Basin of Minas in 
Acadie, should be depopulated, all property confiscated, 
and the lands revert to the British Crown. I dare say 
Winslow did as well as he could, but it was sorry work 
for an honest man. The men were captured in their 
church and thrust on board the war vessels, and the 
women and children followed, but no pains were taken 
to keep the families together, or to trans-ship those who 
were divided — surely that might have been done ! 
The houses were burned, the herds and flocks left to 
die of neglect, the crops to perish on the ground ” — 

“ Oh, papa ! It seems as if it were I who was hurt.” 
“ There speaks your French blood, Margot ! Yes, 
to me it has always seemed as if it were I and mine 
who were so cruelly dealt with, and I was glad when 
General Winslow brought some of his captives within 
my reach. Seventeen of them came to the Old Colony 
with him, and about half that number live up here at 
Oberry, the rest in Kingston and Marshfield.” 

“ And you will take me to see them, dear papa ? ” 
“Yes, if there is time after my visit to the Miss 
Nourses, but here we are at their door. Sit you still, 
till I see if I have to stay any time ; or, no, you had bet- 
ter get out and look at the turkeys ; they have a big 


154 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


flock, and a peacock as well.” So Margot, forgetting 
Acadie and its tragedy, ran and skipped after the tur- 
keys, and picked herself a posy, and munched an apple 
or two, and enjoyed the crisp autumn air and the new 
scene, with all the volatile facility of her French nature. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


“ WHO SALTED THIS PUDDING ? ” 

“ And how is Miss Kezia, to-day ? ” inquired the 
doctor, as he unceremoniously walked into the kitchen 
of the primitive old farmhouse, thereby seriously start- 
ling a long, lank, and yellow woman of uncertain age 
who just then entered the room, bearing a twelve quart 
pan of milk in her hands. 

“ Land o’ Goshen, Doctor ! You ’ve sca’at me out 
of a week’s growth ! ” exclaimed she, setting down the 
milk-pan, wiping her bony hand upon a generous apron 
of blue and white homespun check, and then shaking 
hands with the added welcome of a gap-toothed smile. 
“ How d’y do ? ” 

“ If the week’s growth would have been lateral I 
beg your pardon, if vertical I congratulate you, Miss 
Mimy. I am very well,” replied the doctor, gravely 
reciprocating the handshake, and smiling at one corner 
of his mouth. “ But how is Miss Kezia ? ” 

“ Well, she ain’t a mite better, and that ’s a fact. I 
sez to Keery only this morning, sez I, ‘ Keery, I ’m most 
afraid it ’s a-going to go hard with Keezy, I am.’ ” 

“Oh, I hope not, I hope not,” replied the doctor, 
kindly. “ Shall I go up to see her ? ” 

“ Well, if you ’ll please be seated just a minute, I ’ll 
run up and see. Teer and Do are settin’ with her just 


156 DR. Le BARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


now. Keery and I watched. Take the roundabout, 
Doctor.” 

“ Don’t hurry yourself, Miss Mimy, I can wait a lit- 
tle,” and the doctor, drawing the roundabout chair 
with its patchwork cushion near the fireplace, big and 
cavernous as those others which we have contemplated, 
rubbed his hands over the cheerful blaze, and mur- 
mured with a smile, “ ( In all the land were no women 
found so fair as the daughters of Job,’ — but the charm 
has been broken by transplantation ! ” 

And in effect, Job Nourse, torn between a native 
sense of humor, and an implanted horror of such light 
conversation and pursuits as occupy the unconverted, 
had, like many of his co-religionists, found his amuse- 
ment among those sacred matters which the uncon- 
verted generally respectfully let alone, and had named 
his three elder daughters, Jemima, Kezia, and Keren- 
Happuch ; some years later, a brace of twin girls closed 
the family record, and these, Parson Leonard, then just 
settled in Plymouth, insisted upon naming Dorothea 
and Theodora, soon contracted to Do and Teer, while 
the first three softened into Mimy, Keezy, and Keery. 

But now Job slept with his fathers, leaving his five 
daughters to carry on the farm by the aid of “ hired 
help,” and to prove, long before the question was ever 
agitated, “ woman’s right ” to do man’s work if she has 
capacity and opportunity, and to eat her bread in the 
sweat of her brow and the wear and tear of her nervous 
system. 

“ Will you be pleased to step up stairs, Doctor,” said 
a more childish voice than Jemima’s at the doctor’s back, 
and rising with a smile he held out his hand, saying : — 

“ Good morning, Miss Teer. I am glad to see you 
looking so well ! ” 


“ WHO SALTED THIS PUDDING?” 157 

“Well, I ’m tol’able, thank you, Doctor, but we ’re 
consid’able worried over Keezy. She don’t seem to 
gain none.” 

“ Let us see, let us see, my dear,” replied the doctor, 
vaguely, as he obeyed the summons. 

A little half hour later he returned, followed by 
Keery, or Keren-Happuch, the longest, leanest, and yel- 
lowest of the five sisters. 

“ I will wait for a while and watch the effect of the 
draught I have just given,” said he gravely. “ If that 
does not do, I shall try something stronger.” 

“ And anyway you ’ll stop over dinner, won’t you, 
Doctor ? Of course you will, though we know our livin’ 
is n’t like what you get down town to Squire Lothrop’s, 
and Mr. Elkanah Watson’s, and them folks, not to men- 
tion your own, which I ’m sure is just as good as any 
one’s or was in your wife’s time, the first one I mean, 
she that was a Bartlett, and the Bartletts was always 
famous for good living ” — 

“ I ’ll stay with much pleasure, Miss Keery, but I 
don’t suppose you could give my little girl anything. 
You never have symbols up here at Ponds, do you ? ” 

“ Why, of course we have simballs, Doctor LeBaron, 
— well, there now, ain’t I a chowder-head, not to see 
that you was only poking fun at me. Yes, indeed, we ’ll 
find a simball for the little girl, and some dinner too. 
Which of ’em is it, Doctor ? Little Teresy ? ” 

“ No,” — and a tone of pain struck through the doc- 
tor’s cheery voice, “ there ’s only one to be called little 
now, and that is Margaret, the youngest. I left her out 
there looking after the turkeys.” 

“ Land sake ! I hope that old gobbler won’t run at 
her! He takes a notion to fight children once in a 
while.” 


158 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ He ’d better not try to fight Margot, she ’d make 
short work of him,” laughed the doctor. ‘‘ But I’ll go 
and look after her and the horse.” 

“ Let me go, Doctor ; I ’d like to show the little girl 
my posy bed, and things, and I ’ll holler to Jabez to 
put up your horse. You set right down to the fire and 
wait. Guess I ’ll salt that pudding ’fore I go out.” 

And swinging forward the crane Keren-Happuch 
peered into a kettle hanging from it, stirred the con- 
tents vigorously with a flattened stick left boiling in it, 
threw in a small handful of salt from a cloth bag sus- 
pended in the chimney-corner, and replacing the cover 
so far as the stick would allow, swung the kettle back 
to its temperate corner, and went out. Hardly had the 
door closed behind her than another opened to admit 
Jemima, who came in rolling down her sleeves, and 
wearing the half smile of conscious deserving. 

“ There, I ’ve done out thirty pound of butter this 
morning ’sides all my tearing round after that chore boy 
who never does a thing without I ’m at his heels. Be 
your folks going to want a kag o’ butter this Fall, Doc- 
tor?” 

“ Oh yes, that was one thing my Bess told me to re- 
member this morning, and I believe she wants some 
fresh butter to-day, if you have some not salted.” 

“ Now that ’s too bad. I have n’t got a mite of butter 
in the house but what ’s salted, but I ’ll churn again in 
three days time if I live, and I ’ll set out four or five 
pounds for you before I go anigh the salt-bag, though 
how you can like that mis’able brashy stuff I don’t see. 
Why even the Bible says ‘ salt is good,’ and you ’re a 
Bible Christian I know, Doctor.” 

But the doctor did not reply, his whole attention be- 


WHO SALTED THIS PUDDING? 


159 


ing concentrated on a psychological phenomenon, en- 
acted before him. When Jemima spoke of the salt- 
bag, her eyes traveled toward it, and as she expath 
ated upon the virtues of salt, her feet automatically fol- 
lowed her eyes, and, her hand groping for the mouth of 
the bag and seizing a portion of the salt, she finished by 
throwing it into the mush-kettle, and vigorously stirring 
the contents, while her poor faded eyes fastened upon 
the doctor’s face, eagerly demanding assent to her last 
proposition. It was a delightful instance of a dual ac- 
tion of the brain, and interested the doctor exceedingly. 

“ Keery ! Keery ! I want you a minute ! ” called a 
voice from up stairs, and Miss Mimy, hastily swinging 
back the mush-kettle, hastened to obey the summons. 
A whispered colloquy ensued, and through the half-open 
door Theodora and Dorothea slid into the room, their 
arms entwined in that girlish abandon so attractive in 
maidens of forty or thereabout. 

“ O Doctor, we ’re so glad you are going to stay to 
dinner, though we have n’t anything but very common 
doings, to-day, ” — began Do. 

“ I don’t know as we have any day,” added Teer, in 
a giggle, and then both giggled, for one of the charms of 
these twins was, that whatever one did the other also did, 
the reason probably that neither ever married, since the 
law forbids two women, although twins, to marry one 
man. 

“ I hope the pudding has n’t got burned,” chirruped 
Teer, running toward the fire. 

“ Oh, I hope not ! ” echoed Do, running after her 
and pressing close to her sister’s side as she drew out 
the kettle and peered into it. 

“ No, I guess not, it stirs free,” answered Teer, plun- 
ging her hand into the salt-bag, ‘‘ I ’ll salt it ! ” 


160 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Let me salt it, too,” cried Do. “ You take half a 
handful, and I ’ll take half a handful, and both of us 
fling it in together ! ” And with much girlish demon- 
stration, both of their affection for each other, and their 
infantile condition of artlessness, the twins each took a 
small handful of salt out of the bag, and stirred it into 
the pudding. 

“ Oh, Do ! ” cried Teer, with a little skip of ecstasy, 
as they stepped back from the fireplace, “there is a 
dear, sweet little girl coming up from the barn with 
Keery ! Is she yours, Doctor ? ” 

“ Yes, a little playfellow for you girls,” replied the 
doctor, dryly. But the twins, without stopping to appre- 
ciate the sarcasm, if indeed they could, were tripping 
each other up, in eagerness to reach and caress Mar- 
garet, who, truth to tell, received their advances rather 
disdainfully. 

Left alone at the fireside, Doctor LeBaron allowed 
himself a very peculiar liberty, and that, with a smile 
much wider than he generally enjoyed ; drawing forward 
the crane as he had seen the others do, he took off the 
lid, grasped a good handful of salt from the open mouth 
of the bag, stirred it in, replaced the lid, and swung the 
kettle back, just as the twins with Keery and Margaret 
tripped through the open door with much shrill laughter 
and exclamation. 

They found the doctor leaning back in the round- 
about chair, his chin resting in his hand, his eyes medi- 
tatively fixed on the fire. 

“ Your dear pa looks tired, Magaretta,” murmured 
Teer, in a stage aside. “ Go and give him a kiss, I guess 
that ’s what he wants.” 

“ Oh, Teer ! ” giggled Do, with her hands pressed 


“ WHO SALTED THIS PUDDING f” 161 

upon her mouth, as if to subdue immoderate mirth. 
“ Ain’t you ashamed ? ” 

“ I sh’d think you might both of you be ashamed to 
some purpose,” growled Keren-Happuch, who, having 
been called upon to “mother” the twins, some twenty 
years before, had not noticed that they were now old 
enough to mother Margaret. “ Go and set that table, 
and don’t act like fools.” 

Somewhat subdued by this reproof, the babes obeyed, 
and in a short time dinner was upon the table. It con- 
sisted of two dishes literally, for the piece de resistance, 
universally known as “ b’iled dinner,” was all heaped 
upon a huge pewter platter, worth to-day more dollars 
than the Miss Nourses ever saw at one time. 

It consisted of a large piece of corned, or rather 
salted, beef, another of salt pork, a cabbage, plenty of 
turnips arranged in a wreath around the edge of the 
platter, some dumplings of rye meal, and a few carrots 
gracefully garnishing the apex of the mound. A mighty 
steam, full of flavor and odor, arose from the dish, and 
Margot, wrinkling her delicate little nose, whispered in 
French to her father, — 

“ It ’s not nice, I don ’t want any ! ” 

“ Bad manners, and bad French, Margot,” replied 
the doctor in the same tone, while the twins, who, laugh- 
ing vociferously, had retired to the back kitchen or sink- 
room, as it was called, carrying the mush-kettle between 
them, returned, Do bearing a huge wooden bowl full of 
golden “ nasty-pudding,” and Teer, a brown stone pitcher 
of buttermilk. These were placed at the other end of 
the table from the pewter platter of b’iled dinner, while 
a smaller pewter plate of cold bannocks, that is, 
a thin cake of rye and Indian meal, baked in a creeper 


162 DR LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


over the coals, was put down anywhere, and Jemima 
emphatically placing another stone pitcher of cider be- 
side the milk, briefly said, — 

“ Set up to your victuals, folks ! Doctor, you sit in 
father’s place, poor man, and, sis, you come up here, by 
me.” 

“ I ’d rather sit by papa,” replied Margot, her eyes 
flashing at the address, and the doctor hastened to say, — • 

“ Yes, Miss Mirny, she ’s a naughty girl, sometimes, 
and I have to keep her ears within reach.” 

“ Oh, sho, I don’t believe that ! Well, set up, set up. 
Teer, you can eat now, and then go up and stay with 
Keezy while Keery comes down.” 

“ I ’ll have to go, too,” interposed Do, childishly. 

“Well, I guess you ’ll have to stay down for once and 
help me wait on the table ; the doctor and little miss 
ain’t used to roughing it, same as we are,” said Jemima, a 
little tartly, for something in Margot’s manner and ex- 
pression had come near her New England pride, perhaps 
the most sensitive of any in the world. 

The doctor’s quick tact perceived the little annoyance, 
and as he passed the plates, rapidly loaded by the hostess 
with a portion of everything heaped upon the great platter, 
he so seasoned the coarse fare with jest and anecdote, 
and little flatteries and attentions, that Miss Mirny’s 
long yellow face was soon broadened by a series of 
smiles, genially overlapping each other, and her raspy 
voice completely lost its edge, while the twins simpered 
and laughed and said, “Oh my!” so constantly, that 
when Jemima directed, — 

“ Now, Do, take off the b’iled vittles, and let ’s have 
the pudding genteel by itself,” poor Do had hardly eaten 
anything at all. 


WHO SALTED THIS PUDDING t” 163 


“ When we have a sweet pudding and sa’ace, Doctor, 
we have it in the new-fashioned* way, before the meat/' 
explained Jemima, wiping away the tears of laughter, 
“ but just hasty-pudding so, we don’t mind, and eat it 
right along any time. I ’m real mortified I did n’t have 
nothing fit to eat to-day, but I did n’t know as you ’d 
come ’fore noon, and Keezy needing so much care, I 
guess I ’ve got kind o’ slack, but help yourself to some 
pud’n now, and give Marg’et some. Do you like butter- 
milk along with it, or melasses ? It ain’t no use pre- 
tending, though, for fact is we ain’t got no melasses 
to-day ; we got clean run out of ’em before I knew it, 
and — Land o’ Goshen ! What ’s got into this pudding ! 
Why, I know I salted it, but — good Lord ! Twins, did 
you salt it too ? ” 

“ Why, yes, we both salted it ! ” cried the twins, chok- 
ing with pudding and laughter, and Keery, who, driven 
by famine, had come down to look after her dinner, 
stood at the door staring, and exclaiming — 

“ Ain’t the pudding salted ? Why, I ’m sure I 
salted it, handsome ? ” 

“And I salted it,” quietly remarked the doctor ; “I 
saw that everybody else did, and I thought it was the cus- 
tom of the house. Is it too salt ? ” 

“ Well, you just take a taste, and see, Doctor Le- 
Baron,” said Jemima, half inclined to be offended, but 
concluding to laugh, and all the more that Keren-Hap- 
puch couldn ’t see the joke, and insisted upon having it 
explained. 

“Well, there ’s the simballs, anyway! ” exclaimed she, 
at length. “ Maybe they ’ll go good enough with a piece 
of cheese and some cider, though I was laying out to 
wrop ’em up and give ’em to sis to eat going home. 
Children are always hungry.” 


164 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ So am I, — for your ‘ simballs,* ” said the doctor in a 
plaintive voice, which made them all laugh again, while 
Mimy going into the butt’ry presently returned with a 
great piece of cheese and a plate of those fried cakes 
which we call dough-nuts, and which once were called 
symbols, because they were the survival of certain eccle- 
siastical dainties known in old Saxon days as Mary’s 
cakes, cross-buns, and various emblematic forms, supposed 
to show a devotional intention, or to protect the eater from 
poison, or the evil eye. Miss Mirny’s mind had never 
been burdened with folk-lore of this sort, and she did 
not even know that simballs stood for symbols, but she 
cut her dough into stars, and triangles, and five-fingers, 
and globes, just as her Saxon ancestors had done before 
her, and very savory and toothsome they were. The 
doctor ate heartily, and praised loudly, and even Mar- 
got deigned to take a second and a third, and to drink a 
mug of the sweet buttermilk, until wiping his lips and 
rising from the table, her father said, — 

“ And now I will step up and see Miss Kezia again, 
and then we must go, for I have other visits to pay. 
Miss Mimy, you don’t mind my salting the pudding, do 
you ? It was quite spoiled before I touched it, you 
know.” 

“ Lor’ sakes, no, doctor ! It ’s worth a dozen kittles 
of hasty pudding to hear you talk and tell, for an hour 
or so.” 

Miss Kezia was really better, and as the doctor, 
promising to come again on the morrow, went out to 
his chaise, with Margot by his side, Jemima, Keren- 
Happuch, Dorothea, and Theodora followed them to the 
door and stood, a long, lean, yellow, but smiling group 
upon the doorstep. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AN ACADIAN PRIVATEER. 

Captain Simeon Samson was in evil case, and the 
grounds of his misfortunes were more lofty than his 
private fortunes. 

France and England still were quarreling over Can- 
ada, and, especially, trying to decide the precise boun- 
dary lines of Acadia, which had indeed been settled by 
the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713, but very much after the 
fashion in which a big boy gives his jack-knife to his 
his little brother, “ if he can get it ! ” 

Not that Mad. De Pompadour, or whatever favorite 
governed France at the moment, ever compelled Louis 
XV. to absolutely repudiate his share of the treaty ; 
but when the line was to be drawn between the ceded 
and the retained territory, France claimed that Acadia 
only meant the southern half of the peninsula, now 
called Nova Scotia, while England indignantly con- 
tended that it meant everything east of a line drawn 
from the mouth of the Kennebec to Quebec, a very im- 
portant difference, as the English claim included the 
southern bank of the St. Lawrence with the command- 
ing headland of Gaspe at its mouth. So there was war 
in the land, and the Acadians, the most unreasonably 
loyal people in history, fought desperately on the side 
of France, — who coldly repudiated and sold them, — 
against England who, partly for humanity’s sake, and 


166 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


partly because she saw in them valuable citizens, and 
wanted them to stay quietly and raise crops, and catch 
fish, and make cider to be sold to the Army commissa- 
ries, offered them all sorts of liberal terms and privileges, 
including protection in their religion, very obnoxious 
to the English nostrils under the Hanoverian reign. 

But the Acadians were simple folk, and knew but 
one form of loyalty; so through a forty years’ proba- 
tion, and a succession of mild and generous governors, 
each one of whom felt that he was the man to settle 
the Acadian question and found that he was n’t, the 
French Neutrals, as they came to be called, had but one 
answer to give to every form of argument or entreaty. 
They knew no sovereign but the King of France, and 
although they would take oath never to fight either for 
or against him, they would die before swearing uncon- 
ditional allegiance to England, with the risk of being 
called upon to serve against their own countrymen. 

This was their simple confession of faith, and it never 
once varied in spirit, and not much in word, through 
forty years of incessant endeavor upon the part of Eng- 
land to induce a recantation. 

One must respect faith so staunch, and loyalty so un- 
swerving, but yet what power could consent to enter- 
tain some eight or ten thousand “ Neutrals ” with a 
hereditary attachment to its mortal enemy, within its 
borders ? Sound policy dictated that the Acadians 
must be assimilated or banished ; the former course 
they resisted with a bland obstinacy infinitely irritating 
to the English governors, and at last the latter course 
was resolved on by Pitt at home, and carried out by 
Gov. Lawrence upon the spot, through men of the New 
England contingent, which he had summoned to his aid. 


AN ACADIAN PRIVATEER. 


167 


Unfortunately, Lieutenant-colonel John Winslow was 
the man ordered to deport the inhabitants of the Basin 
of Minas, and being a soldier he must obey his orders, 
or resign his position. Perhaps he might have done 
his duty more gently and shown himself more careful 
of the domestic interests and affections of those he 
made his prisoners. Perhaps — but how few men find 
the wisest and best method of performing a painful and 
distracting duty, and how few agents of an odious act 
receive justice at the hands of posterity ! 

It is comfortable to know, however, that although the 
exiles were scattered all down the Atlantic coast, from 
Massachusetts to Florida, they were allowed to retain 
their money and household goods, and so soon as they 
were steady upon their legs in the new home, began 
preparations to return to the old one. Before two 
months were over, many had done so, and in course of 
time, about two thirds of the whole number deported 
had, with the serene persistence of their character, 
found means to again become Acadians of Acadia, and 
so long as they were unobtrusive were not disturbed. 
Evangeline and Gabriel did not find their way back, to 
be sure, and the great poet’s song of their lives and 
their death is sweeter and more pathetic than history. 
But yet to my mind there is something far nobler in the 
spectacle of a people stoutly choosing loss, exile, and 
great suffering in preference to disloyalty, than in the 
poet’s picture of childlike endurance of unmerited 
wrong, whose origin cannot be guessed. I would write, 

“ Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori,” 

upon a monument set in the fields of Grand Pre, 
rather than, 


168 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


“Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the 
strongest.” 

But Governor Lawrence and his subordinates had not 
been able to capture all the Acadians, and, as we have 
said, very many of the exiles returned as soon as pos- 
sible to their old homes, and having been stirred beyond 
their original passive opposition became active antago- 
nists, collecting at various points, notably the Bay of 
Chaleur (so named by Jacques Cartier because he hap- 
pened to sail into it first upon a hot summer day), Che- 
necto Bay, Miramichi, and Richibucto, where they occu- 
pied themselves in fitting out small privateers, and or- 
ganizing, with the help of the Indians, surprise parties 
to cut off supplies from the English posts, to harry the 
English settlements and to give all the information and 
aid possible to the French forces. 

One of the most formidable of these privateers, com- 
manded by the notorious Joseph Brossard, cruising in 
the Bay of Fundy, fell in, one pleasant morning, with 
the brigantine Lydia out of Plymouth, laden with sup- 
plies of various sorts for the fort at the mouth of the 
St. John, then called by the French Fort Royal, and 
now by the English, Fort Frederick. 

The Lydia could neither fight nor fly, and having 
vainly tried the latter course, was compelled, much to 
the chagrin of her young commander, to surrender. 
Brossard did not spare him the humiliation of the de- 
feat, especially when he heard his destination. 

“ St. John ! St. John ! ” exclaimed he, in the patois 
used by the habitans as English. “ Kennel of dogs ! 
Some day we will revenge the slaughter your Monckton 
made of us not five years ago there. Some other 
Circe will be found, and some other Ulysses will be 
wrecked.” 


AN ACADIAN PRIVATEER. 


169 


“Don’t know what all that means,” remarked Sim- 
eon Samson gruffly, as he eyed the tumultuous proceed- 
ings of the prize crew getting the Lydia under sail to 
follow her captor. 

“ What ! Do not you know that these dogs of Eng- 
lishmen captured one hundred and fifty French habi- 
tans, free Acadians, subjects of our most glorious king, 
and put them on board the Circe to carry into exile like 
those others, and the brave fellows rose, and seized the 
vessel and carried her into what you call St. John, and 
made captive the crew, and later, when your men came 
to recapture her, we burned her before their eyes, and 
when your Monckton arrived, and after slaughtering all 
its defenders recaptured the fort, his schooner Ulysses 
went upon the rocks and was wrecked- That, my lad, 
is what happens to all who try to take Fort Royal, or to 
aid and provision it.” 

“ Oh, well, we won’t fight with our tongues since we 
can’t with our guns,” said Samson, rather contemptu- 
ously. “ What are you going to do with me ? ” 

“ I will take you and your supplies to our brave men 
in Baie Chaleur,” replied Brossard, complacently. “ The 
supplies we will consume, and the brigantine must be 
ransomed by its owners, and you shall be prisoner until 
the ransom money comes, you and the ship’s papers.” 

“ Good Lord ! ” groaned Samson. It may be months, 
may be a year, and maybe Goodwin and Warren won’t 
think I ’m worth a ransom.” 

“ Yes, yes, a brave young fellow like you is worth 
much money to his owners,” said Brossard, running his 
eye over the fine proportions, resolute face, and daunt- 
less bearing of his captive. 

“ The brigantine shall be sent home with a few hands. 


170 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


and you shall write to your owners and your friends — 
you have a wife ? ” 

“ Yes, what ’s that to you ? ” 

“ Oh, she will go and plead to these owners ; she is 
young, she is beautiful, she still loves you ” — 

“There, that will do, Brossard. We Englishmen 
don’t hide behind our wives’ petticoats, nor do we talk 
about them to every master of a picaroon that we may 
come across. I will write to my owners, Goodwin and 
Warren, of Plymouth in the Colony of Massachusetts 
Bay”- 

“ Plymouth — Plymouth ! That is where Jean Dau- 
din, and Pkre Bergeron, and Simon Martin are exiled. 
They wrote a letter to my beau-fils Alexander Bros- 
sard.” 

“ Yes, I heard there were some French Neutrals bil- 
letted on Plymouth,” said Samson carelessly, “ but I 
never saw any of them.” 

“ Tell me then what sort of hole is this Plymouth, 
and how my brothers are treated by your dogs of Eng- 
lish.” 

“ Come, man, I ’m your prisoner, and all the laws of 
nations say that it’s for you to keep a civil tongue in 
your head, and treat me pretty much as you ’d fancy 
me to treat you, if we took turn about. Know what I 
mean, commander ? ” 

“ Yes, I know what you mean. You ’re a bold fel- 
low and your owners will pay the ransom quick, quick ! ” 

“ Well, then, don’t forget it, and I’ll spin you a yarn 
about Plymouth, and you can tell me what ’s the matter 
with you folks up here, and what maggot’s got into 
your brains that you don’t want to he Englishmen.” 

So accepting his situation as “ the fortune of war,” 


AN ACADIAN PRIVATEER. 


171 


and making the best of it, Samson filled his pipe, 
quaffed a mug of his host’s heady cider, and settled 
himself for one of those sailor’s “ yarns ” of which, 
truth to tell, he was remarkably fond. So agreeable, 
in truth, did he make himself, that when, some four 
days later, Brossard dropped anchor in Baie Chaleur 
and prepared to set his prisoner ashore, he would have 
embraced him, had not the Englishman held him off by 
main force, shaking hands instead and saying, 

“ No, no, mate, I don’t kiss tarry-breeks nor whisk- 
ers, though I wish you just as well as if I did.” 

u Nay, but you have stolen my heart, Samson ! You 
have done me wrong, for I never can hate an English- 
man, again.” 

“ No, but you ’ll spite them just the same,” replied 
Samson, coolly. “ A man of your years is n’t made over 
as easily as all that.” 

“ But you are unkind, my Samson,” expostulated 
Brossard, “ and yet, that shall not hinder my making 
the best arrangements possible for your captivity. My 
friend Gaspard Brunei has charge of the fort, and I 
shall charge him to give you of the best we find in your 
Lydia’s stores, to eat and to drink.” 

“ I won’t touch bit nor sup of stolen goods,” inter- 
rupted Samson stoutly. “ If I ’m a prisoner of war 
I ’m entitled to rations, but let them look out not to 
feed me on the Lyddy’s stores or I ’ll brain the turn- 
key.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 

“Four weeks! Four lifetimes ! Four more, and I 
shall be a madman and go from here to Bedlam ! M 

“ What is that you say, dear friend ! Still you com- 
plain of your captivity, and you have the pipe, and the 
wine, and the books, and the paper and pen and ink, — 
and your poor little friend, Tlibrese, so often as she can 
come to chat with you ! ” 

The young man thus addressed turned from the win- 
dow where he had been shaking the stout iron bars that 
his namesake could have broken like straws, and ap- 
proached the table where a remarkably pretty young 
girl was laying out a supper very luxurious for prison 
fare. 

“ I know you have been very good to me, Thbrbse,” 
said he kindly, if a little coldly, “ but my case is beyond 
cure of dainty food, or books, or even pleasant chat. I 
want my liberty, Th^rbse. I want to be afloat and 
bound home. I want to be playing a man’s part in the 
world, and not losing strength and energy cooped up 
here like a fowl to be fattened.” 

He clenched his right hand as he spoke and shot it 
out as if to try the muscles, then impatiently nipped a 
little superfluous flesh upon the fore-arm. 

“ Yes, I ’ll be fit to kill and eat in another month, — 
or I ’ll kill somebody else or myself or — there, child, 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 


173 


don’t stand and look as if the devil had broke loose in 
your sight. I would never hurt you, little one, though 
you alone stood in the way of my freedom.” 

“ No, mon capitan, I do not fear you,” said the girl, 
simply ; “ but I am so sorry, I want to help you.” 

“ Good child — but you cannot,” said the prisoner 
absently, and rather indifferently. 

“ Will not you come and eat, monsieur ? Here is an 
omelette aux fines herbes which I made myself, and it 
will spoil.” 

“ Four weeks — and it may be ten or twenty, or for- 
ever ! ” 

The girl stood for a moment watching, as the prisoner 
strode up and down the cell, teeth and fists clenched, 
and the haggard look she had marked of late, dark 
upon his face ; a face to please that maiden queen who 
“ loved to look upon a man ” although no face for an 
artist, with its irregular Saxon outline and strong fair 
hair brushed back and gathered in a cue at the nape of 
the neck, its choleric complexion, and bright, blue eyes, 
darkened by shaggy brows, and occasionally, in time of 
peace, reminding one of those marvelous eyes be- 
queathed to her descendants by Barbara Standish ; a 
generous mouth filled with strong white teeth and a 
square cleft chin made up this face set upon a thick 
short neck and massive shoulders, and as Th^rbse 
Brunei’s dark eyes rested upon it now in its moment of 
despair her heart melted within her for love and long- 
ing. 

“ Mon capitan,” said she, softly gliding to his side as 
he stopped at the window and seized its bars and shook 
them again, with a savage growl. “ Mon capitan, 
listen ! ” 


174 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Nay, leave me, child, leave me before I scare you 
again. I ’m in no mood for gentle talk and — oh my 
God, my God ! ” And the poor fellow leaned his hot 
head upon his arms there in the narrow porthole, and 
groaned aloud. 

“ I will help you to escape, mon capitan,” whispered 
the girl, laying a timid hand upon his shoulder. 

“ What ! No, but you cannot, dear child ! You 
have told me how your father guards the keys, and 
Jacques will be here in a moment to call you out.” 

“ No, but there are other ways — I have been think- 
ing much — only take courage, mon ami, take courage, 
and eat and grow strong, and no longer waste yourself 
in shaking those bars — you shall, you shall be free, — 
I promise it ! ” 

“ And you ’re not just humoring me to my food, like 
a spoiled child ? ” 

“ I swear to you, mon capitan, no ! ” 

“Well, then, I ’ll eat and sleep and all the rest of it. 
But take care you don’t try to cheat me for my own 
good, Therese ! ” 

“ You shall be free, mon capitan, if I die to set you 
free.” 

Samson stood for a moment reading the face up- 
turned to his, but the look of passionate devotion glow- 
ing in the dark eyes and trembling upon the lips, ripe 
and red as a cherry, was not to be mistaken, and partly 
in gratitude, partly in the frank fashion of his time and 
avocation, the sailor stooped and pressed a kiss upon 
those willing lips. 

And yet he would have known better than to light 
his pipe in a powder magazine ! Then he sat down and 
ate the omelette aux fines herbes and the rest of the 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 


175 


dainty little supper ; and Thdrese, hardly speaking again, 
for the tumult in her veins choked her, went her way 
and left Jacques the turnkey to bring away the supper 
she bribed him with smiles and dainty bits to allow 
her to serve. 

The days winged by hope passed on, and Samson, 
caring for his health, repaired the damage it had sus- 
tained and gained once more the color to his cheek and 
light to his eye whose loss had so wounded the heart of 
the gentle habitane. 

About a week had passed when one evening she 
came again to bring the prisoner’s food, an office she 
did not dare to perform except when her father was 
away, for mother the poor ^child had none, and, as she 
set it out, looked at him with a sort of wistful appeal in 
her eyes, red with recent tears. An intuition shot 
through the captain’s brain. 

“ Th^rese, you have news ! ” exclaimed he, seizing her 
arm. 

“Yes, mon capitan. All is prepared, and to-night, 
even to-night, we will fly.” 

“ We ! ” 

“ Oh, monsieur, you will not leave me behind when it 
is all for love of you that I play the traitor to my people 
and to my father who trusts me.” 

“ Oh, my God ! Is it all to fail at last ? ” groaned the 
man, dropping his hand and turning ashen white to his 
lips. 

“ Fail ! But no, all is prepared.” 

“ And do you think I am such a cur, Th^rfcse, as to 
leave you to suffer in my place, or such a villain as to 
take you ? No, if my liberty hangs on either of these 
pegs, it is over — gone — past.” 


176 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ But listen, mon ami — I love you so dearly ” — 

“ Chut, chut, child — hold thy tongue ! No woman 
named Th^rese should be — well, I ’ll not chide thee, 
poor little one ; but have I never told you that I am a 
married man ? ” 

“ Yes, mon capitan.” 

“Well, then, — I gave up so much once to hold my- 
self to a promise, and after all but a half-promise, that 
it is not likely I shall prove false for a less temptation. 
If you cannot help me off without hurt to yourself, let 
it go. Some day, before I am quite worn out with 
waiting, they will send the ransom, or I will get away 
without help — nay, girl, don’t cry — I never could see 
a woman cry without a pang, like a sword-thrust — 
don’t cry, little one — I ’d kiss away the tears, only I 
must not — there, go away for a while, Th^rese — 
Thdrese — to think of a maid calling herself Th^rese, 
offering me love that I must not take — a Th^rbse that 
I might take in my arms and kiss — oh, child, you drive 
me out of my manhood — go, go ! ” 

“ Your wife is called Thdrese ? ” demanded the 
French girl. 

“ My wife — no.” 

“ Ah, then, you do love some other woman more than 
you do her ! Some woman called Th^rese, so why not 
me?” 

“ Nay, child,” — 

“ You cannot deny it, monsieur.” 

“Well, then, since you will have the whole gtory, 
though I count it something less than maidenly to so 
press a man, I will tell you that I did love, or at the 
least went nigh to love one called Terese, but my faith 
was due to another, and she claimed it, and I gave it to 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 177 

her, and a right down good woman and good wife she 
is, and if I gave up much to hold faith with her before 
we were married, I would do twice as much now, and 
I care not to talk more about it, so even though you 
find me rude and boorish I will say that it were better 
you left me and came no more to see me. A man is 
but flesh and blood, and it is not my nature to be so 
ungracious.” 

“ See, then, mon capitan, I will be as brave and as 
self-forgetting as you ! You shall be free and leave me 
behind.” 

“To take the blame, and mayhap the punishment of 
my escape — no ! ” 

“ I shall see — I shall see,” and Thdrese meditated, 
a forefinger laid upon her pretty slighted lips. Her 
first words, however, seemed little to the purpose, and 
were very coldly spoken. 

“ I think you mistook me but now, monsieur. I did 
propose to escape with you and go to your town of 
Plymouth, but it was to go under your protection to my 
uncle Bergeron, who with his daughter Alix and his son 
Pierre is planted there.” 

“What, your uncle and cousins are among those 
French Neutrals late sent to Plymouth ! Why did you 
never tell me that before ? ” 

“ Why should I ? ” replied the girl sullenly. “ What 
care have you for me or my affairs.” 

“ Come, now, my lass, that ’s bad seamanship to tack 
and fill and yaw about in that style, when you can lay 
a fair course on an even keel. Just now you loved me 
more than I could hearken to, and again you go nigh 
to hate me, and yet Simeon Samson has never changed 
from what you first knew him. See here, little Th^rese, 


178 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


you are but a child and know not what you want. If 
— if — hang it, girl, a man cannot talk to a maid as her 
mother might, but I have always noted that when one 
gets by hook or by crook what he ought n’t to have, the 
good of it is gone before he touches it, and it ’s worse 
to have it than to want it. Then, as for taking you to 
your uncle in Plymouth, it ’s a thing I ’ve no commis- 
sion to do. Your father trusts you to come in here, and 
he ’s a good father to you in all ways, so far as I have 
heard, and for me to steal you away, though no further 
harm come of it, would be just piracy, kidnapping, or 
any such name he chose to put to it. And no mat- 
ter how circumspect I might be, my wife would feel 
she had a right of protest and she ’d use it too. You 
would n’t like me to have my ears pulled, would you, 
little girl?” 

Th^rese laughed in spite of herself, and peeped out 
of her apron at the stalwart fellow, who smiled cheerily 
at her. 

“ Come, now, that ’s my lass ! Laugh and be friends, 
and forget all the nonsense you ’ve been trying to make 
me take for earnest. Help me off if you can, and if 
ever you come to join your kin in Plymouth, Deborah 
Samson will show you what thankfulness means. She ’s 
a good woman, is Deborah, and you would be glad to 
give her such pleasure as she will have when she sees 
me safe home again.” 

“ One word, monsieur,” and the French girl, no 
longer weeping but pale and cold, dropped her apron, 
and looked straight in the face of this masculine blun- 
derer. “ I will help you all I possibly can, and I will 
forgive you when I can ” — 

“ Forgive me for what ! ” 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 


179 


“ For — the trouble you have given me, monsieur — 
I have cooked many dishes and done — ah, ciel, you 
man ! Well, I forgive you as one forgives petit Jean, 
the imbecile, for what he says amiss ; hut I pray you 
spare me the embraces of Madame Samson ! I have 
not the honor to know her, and I have not the time to 
listen to her perfections. Let us say no more about 
her.” 

“ I take no favors from one who scorns at my wife,” 
said Samson, stoutly. 

“ And still in your heart you love some Thdr&se bet- 
ter than you do her ! ” 

The healthy color fell from beneath the bronze of 
the sailor’s cheek, leaving it of a sickly yellow, and he 
turned again to the window, grasping the bars with his 
hands and staring vacantly at the broad stretch of blue 
water and rosy evening sky before him. For a moment 
there was intense silence in the narrow cell, and then a 
faint rustle, a hand timidly laid upon the tense arm, and 
a whisper : — 

“ Oh, pardon, pardon, mon capitan ! I would not 
have said it, but my heart is breaking with its misery ! * 

“ You hurt me sorely, child, but you could not have 
meant it. You would not wantonly stab at a poor fel- 
low who trusted you in his lonely and helpless es- 
tate ! ” 

“Oh, miserable that I am — oh, Judas — oh, demon 
— how dare I ever say my prayers again, how dare I 
look at you, how dare I even ask for your forgive- 
ness ! ” 

“ Come, come, my girl, it needs not all this to gain 
the pardon I never withheld. Thdrese, you are like a 
craft in a heavy sea with no steerage way upon her — 


180 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


she rolls to port, she rolls to lu’ard, and at every roll 
she snaps a yard, or her standing rigging, and finally 
her masts, and lies a wreck, all for want of a rudder.” 

“ And you will forgive me ? ” sobbed the girl, quite 
uncomprehensive of the nautical parable. 

“ As freely as I pray God to forgive me my own far 
blacker sins.” 

“ And you shall escape, you and the man they brought 
with you.” 

“ Mark Pryor ! Can you help him off as well ? ” ex- 
claimed Samson joyfully. “ Right glad shall I be to 
carry him safe home to Duxbury, and his old mother.” 

“ Yes, you will need his help in the boat, or I should 
not have troubled,” said Th^rese, carelessly. “You 
shall be dressed as a woman in some clothes I have 
made for you from those of my dear dead mother — 
heaven grant it be not counted sacrilege, and he shall 
be a boatman from Miramichi whose boat is here for a 
day or two ” — 

“la woman ! ” exclaimed Samson, irresolutely. “ But 
if it comes to fighting what can I do, hampered in petti- 
coats ! ” 

“You will not fight — you will run,” replied Th^r&se, 
briefly. 

“ Then give me a following wind, for I never learned 
to hand or reef a petticoat, and first should find myself 
in stays, and then in irons.” 

“ You are very merry, monsieur, but I am too igno- 
rant to comprehend.” 

“ ’T is heartless enough I know, but when you talk to 
a sailor-man in prison, of a boat, and a messmate, and 
liberty, why, child, you make a fool of him. But come, 
now, tell me all your plan, and how we are to compass 
it.” 


SAMSON IN PETTICOATS. 181 

“There is a man here from Miramichi, monsieur, 
called Victor Beaubien ! ” 

“ Nay, not so solemn, little one ! Show me that 
pretty smile and those white teeth as you used ! ” 

“ Think of Madame Debdrah, monsieur,” muttered 
the girl, and the queer French pronunciation of the 
familiar name so tickled the sailor’s simple humor that 
it was only by a savage nip upon his nether lip that he 
restrained a burst of laughter sure to provoke his com- 
panion, who, taking his silence for wounded feeling, 
went on more placably. 

“ Victor and my father are concerned in affairs, oh, 
such secret affairs, mon capitan, matters of the war and 
of the king, — what they are I do not know, but they 
must go to-morrow to Bartibogue to meet some deputies, 
and they will be gone all night ! ” — 

“ And Victor leaves his boat here ? ” 

“Yes, mon capitan, — and I was so glad.” 

“And will be glad again when you think of it, in 
days to come, Thdr&se. How large a boat is it ? Can 
two men handle it ? ” 

“ Three brought it here to Caraquette, from Mirami- 
chi, through Miscou Gully and shoals, and surely two 
Englishers are better than three poor Frenchmen.” 

“ Of course they are,” answered Samson, simply. 
“ And what course should we lay to escape recap- 
ture ? ” 

“ The talk to-day was of a fleet of English war ves- 
sels off the mouth of Baie Chaleur, that ’s our sea, you 
know ” — 

And the girl, with a broad sweep of the hand, indi- 
cated the darkening waters without. 

“ And these vessels were to the eastward ? ” 


182 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


“Yes, that way. They may be going up the St. 
Lawrence, our men say, but there are many of them, 
and you will know how to run after them. This man, 
Pryor, you call him, eh ? ” 

“ Well, Pryor is the way to pronounce it.” 

“ What matter ! He will be Victor Beaubien with a 
hat and coat such as our men wear, and you in the 
clothes I have fashioned, and a so-large hood on your 
head, you will be his sister or his mother ” — 

And the poor little broken - hearted French girl, 
laughed merrily in the blessed elasticity of her age and 
nationality. 

“ Th^rese, Thdrbse, where are you, ma sceur ? Papa 
wants you, Thdr&se ! ” 

“ It is my little brother, monsieur ! ” exclaimed the 
girl, hurriedly, “ I will tell you the rest to-morrow, when 
they are gone.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


PHILIP DE MONTARNAUD. 

The selectmen of Plymouth were assembled in coun- 
cil at the Town House, on Town Square. In those days 
when Framing Green boasted no worthier edifice than 
the Town Pound, it was the Court House as well, and 
from it offenders were summarily dispatched to the 
Province prison, on the corner of Market and Sum- 
mer Streets, where also were to be found the stocks and 
pillory maintained as a terror to evil doers but seldom 
used. 

The fathers of Plymouth having transacted a little 
formal business, had somewhat relaxed the official sever- 
ity of the meeting, and were discussing the aspect of 
the war and the prospects of a real as well as nominal 
peace. 

“ Lieutenant de Montarnaud has letters touching his 
exchange, from Paris,” said Doctor LeBaron ; “ and he 
tells me that there is the speediest prospect of an ami- 
cable arrangement between the Home Government and 
France. He is sanguine of an almost immediate 
peace.” 

“ That young man seems quite one of your family, 
Doctor,” remarked Deacon Foster, sourly. 

“ Yes, when the town requested me to take charge of 
him, I understood that I was to regard him as an inmate, 
and not as a prisoner.” 


184 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“Most surely, Doctor,” interposed Warren, “we are 
bound to retain him and the other officers, one of whom 
is inmate of my own family, and one of Mr. Howland’s, 
as hostages for the safe return of Captain Samson and 
our other townsmen, but there is no need of any harsh 
captivity ” — 

The door suddenly opened, and a handsome young 
woman entered, not with the timid hesitation usual with 
one of her sex intruding upon a conclave of her natural 
sovereigns, but with a certain steady determination of 
mien, the appropriate air of the victor. 

“Mistress Samson!” exclaimed Deacon Fuller, the 
oldest man in the room, and in his own idea invested 
with some sort of ecclesiastical authority. “ What do 
you want here, madam ? This is no place for you.” 

“ I ask your pardon, Deacon Fuller, but I am here to 
speak to you and to these gentlemen who have the care of 
the town, and of us women as well as the men.” 

“ Certainly, certainly, Mrs. Samson,” said Doctor Le- 
Baron, with a punctilious politeness, that seemed to 
rebuke the rudeness of the first speaker, while Warren 
placed a chair, saying gently — 

“ Sit down, madam, sit down ! ” 

“ I am beholden to you, sir,” replied Deborah, resting 
her hand on the back of the chair. “ But I am not here 
for my own ease or pleasure, and I only ask leave to 
speak, and have a fair hearing.” 

“ That we assure you, Mrs. Samson ; am I not right, 
brethren ? ” And as the doctor looked around the 
board, he was met with an assenting murmur. 

“ Then, what I have to say is this. My husband, 
Simeon Samson, master of your vessel, Mr. Warren, is 
your townsman, is he not ? ” 


PHILIP DE MONTARNAUD. 


185 


“ Certainly, and a very respectable and worthy one, 
as well as a most admirable seaman,” replied Warren, 
with his customary gentle courtesy. 

“ You say what everybody who knows him must say,” 
replied Deborah, with a flush of pride upon her dark 
face. 

“ Well, sirs, this man is locked fast in a miserable 
prison cell, where he is shut away from the life he loves 
so well, air, exercise, work or play, where he sees none 
but the faces of enemies, and hears naught but what 
they choose to tell him. You know this, Mr. Warren, 
as well as I, for I showed you the letter he writ from 
that prison.” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Samson,” replied Warren, uneasily, “ and 
Mr. Goodwin and I began at once to collect his ransom, 
but times are hard, and ” — 

“ Not his ransom, but the ransom of the Lyddy,” in- 
terrupted Deborah. “ If the Frenchman had kept the 
brigantine and sent home the man, I warrant times 
would have been found easier.” 

“ Nay, madam, you are unjust ” — began Warren. 

“And if to upbraid Master Warren is all your object, 
mistress,” interposed Deacon Fuller, sourly, “you could 
find him in private, without coming here to interrupt the 
public business.” 

“ I do not wish to upbraid Master Warren,” replied 
Deborah, coolly. “ He is a good man and a civil one, 
and if he looks at his own side of a bargain, before he 
does that of the other man, I know not that he differs 
from you, Deacon, or from most men.” 

A suppressed smile stole over the faces of the select- 
men, for Deacon Fuller had the reputation of being a 
little “ near ” in business matters. 


186 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“No, I came here to see the selectmen of Plymouth, 
and to ask them if they think it fair or honest, or even 
decent, while their own townsman, taken prisoner in 
the service of one of their own number, lies close in 
prison, to leave three of his enemies at large, although 
they are called prisoners.” 

The selectmen stirred in their chairs, and glanced at 
each other. 

It was quite true that the three French officers bil- 
letted upon Plymouth by the Provincial Government 
had been treated rather as honored guests than as 
prisoners, and made welcome to every house in the vil- 
lage, especially by Doctor LeBaron, and Parson Robbins, 
whose liberal education included a thorough knowledge 
of the French language and literature. That worthy 
man had indeed suffered many qualms of conscience 
as to the lawfulness of so much mundane enjoyment as 
he found in those evenings when the three officers, Le- 
Baron, and himself, closeted in the doctor’s office, with 
a pipe and modest glass of punch before each comrade, 
chattered in French, of men and manners beyond the sea, 
and of the great world outside of his own sphere. Some 
solace to be sure, was derived from the fact that two of 
these men belonged to old Huguenot families, and that 
the third, Lieutenant Philip de Montarnaud, listened 
so courteously and intently to his own expositions of the 
errors of Rome, that the ardent Calvinist had good 
hope of soon converting him from the errors of his ways. 
But when at times he expressed this hope to Dr. Le- 
Baron, that gentleman generally replied by offering him 
his snuff-box. 

“ These officers are prisoners of war, are they not ? ” 
inquired Deborah, at last, since no one broke the uneasy 
silence. 


PHILIP DE MONTARNAUD. 187 

“ Oh, yes, they are prisoners of war,” replied Warren, 
at whom she looked. 

“ Then I demand, as Simeon Samson’s wife, that they 
should be treated as he is treated. I demand that they 
shall be locked up in the Province prison, and fed on 
prison fare, and kept in close ward, until Captain Sam- 
son is set at liberty.” 

“ But they are on parole, madam,” interposed Doctor 
LeBaron. “ They have passed their word of honor not 
to attempt an escape, nor ” — 

“ An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” inter- 
rupted Deborah, contemptuously. “My man’s word of 
honor is better than any Frenchman’s, but it has not been 
enough to give him the same liberty these men have had 
thrust upon them. It is no more than fair that since 
his parole has not been granted, these others should not 
be allowed theirs.” 

“ She ’s right,” growled Deacon Foster, who hated 
the debonair young Frenchmen, as did his brother, 
Deacon Fuller. 

“ The usage of war is on her side,” murmured War- 
ren, who had been studying military tactics, perhaps 
with prevision of his military career in the future. 

“ But my good woman,” exclaimed LeBaron, rising 
to his feet with an angry flush upon his sallow cheek, 
“ it will not help your husband at all, to make these 
gentlemen uncomfortable ! It is no more than woman- 
ish spite to demand it.” 

“ I do not suppose Simeon Samson’s comfort is very 
dear to you, Doctor,” replied Deborah, meaningly. “ But 
it is to me, and perhaps these gentlemen of English 
blood can see the matter more clearly than you.” 

“ Sit down, man, sit down,” muttered Consider How* 


188 DR. Le BARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


land, near whose chair the doctor had paused. “ There ’s 
neither profit nor honor to be gained in fighting with a 
woman ; and she ’s in the right ; we shall have to lock 
up the Johnny Crapauds till Samson is set free, and 
I ’m sorry too, for that little fellow at my house is as 
merry as a grig and plays like a boy with my little 
Hannah.” 

“ As my Margot with Montarnaud,” said the doctor, 
in the same tone, but the strident voice of Deacon 
Foster, who acted as chairman, drowned his words. 

“ It seems to me, brethren, that Deborah Samson’s 
claim is a just and honest one. If the Frenchmen of 
Baie Chaleur had held our man at his word, it would 
be fair that we should give their men the like privi- 
lege ; but they have not, and for us to be less strict 
than they, would seem to belittle our own standing, 
which, I take it, Plymouth men are not ready as yet to 
do.” 

“ Our fathers on Burying Hill would come down to 
flout us, if we did,” said Howland, and the two or 
three other men present claiming Pilgrim blood straight- 
ened themselves upon their chairs. 

“I agree with Brother Foster,” said Fuller, briefly; 
and the matter being put to vote was decided within 
the next five minutes in favor of Deborah. 

Leaving the council chamber hot and angry, Doctor 
LeBaron turned up Summer Street, cast a withering 
glance at the ruinous old prison building, and walked at 
the stretch of his long legs up the hill beyond, toward 
the Carver woods. 

Suddenly a smile broke through the wrath upon his 
face, for the sight of the prison recalled in spite of him- 
self a story at which he had laughed heartily only a 
few months earlier. 


PHILIP HE MONTARNAUD. 


189 


It concerned a notorious petty criminal, whose name 
need not be mentioned, but who had been time and 
again convicted in the provincial court of one offense 
and another, and with much solemnity sentenced to va- 
rious terms of imprisonment in this same jail ; but so 
ruinous was its condition and so enterprising the crim- 
inal that he had never remained more than a week or 
so before making his escape. Convicted and sentenced 
about a year before this time, he had with impudent 
gravity protested to the court against the sentence, stat- 
ing that the jail was so open to the weather and gen- 
erally uncomfortable that he could not stay in it, and, 
unless it was extensively repaired, certainly should not 
do so. The outraged magistrates at once clapped an- 
other three months upon the sentence, but the same day 
ordered Jonathan Dix, carpenter, to carry lumber and 
other material forthwith to the jail, and to see that it 
was made secure. Whether they specified comfortable 
as well, I do not know, but in those days the theory 
was prevalent that criminals were imprisoned by way 
of punishment, and were not to be treated better than 
virtuous paupers. 

The lumber arrived, and the prisoner, inspecting it 
from the window of his cell, shook his head at its qual- 
ity ; and as a knot of those idlers inevitable in the best 
regulated communities gathered in the gloaming under 
his window, he began, in a mellow and jolly voice, to 
chant the story of his exploits, closing every verse with 
the refrain : — 

“ Mr. Dix has brought some sticks 
To mend my prison door, 

But I don’t doubt that I shall get out 
As I have done before, O ! 

As I have done before ! ” 


190 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


And in point of fact, when Mr. Dix arrived the next 
morning to begin his work, there was no prisoner to se- 
cure, and the carpenter’s coat and tools, stored in a 
snug nook among the lumber, had vanished as well. 

The doctor’s smile, at this reminiscence, had not van- 
ished before he met a merry little party coming up the 
hill from the spring, to which the Pilgrims had trodden 
a path from their fort on Burying Hill a century or 
more before. This party consisted first of an aged 
donkey ; then of a very good-looking young man, al- 
most a boy, indeed, for he had yet to see his twenty- 
first birthday, although military training, Provencal 
blood, and Gallic race combined to make him appear 
older than an Anglo-Saxon of the same years. Walk- 
ing beside the donkey, with a hand upon his bridle, this 
young man advanced in a crablike fashion, his head 
being twisted completely around in anxious yet merry 
supervision of a very rickety little cart, much cobbled 
and tackled with rope, and crowded to its utmost ca- 
pacity with a chattering, laughing, restless, overflowing 
company of little lasses, a small boy or two, and an in- 
definite number of baskets heaped with clusters of ripe 
grapes, purple, red, and white, — those delicious wild 
grapes for which Plymouth was once almost as famed 
as Eshcol. 

“ There, Margot ! ” cried he, as the cart at last halted 
upon level ground, “ I told you that Neddie and I could 
get you up the hill ! ” 

A chorus of merry voices replied, but above them 
rose Margot’s, in its penetrating sweetness : — 

“Papa! O papa! See our grapes! We have so 
many, so many ! ” 

“ Good evening, sir,” exclaimed the young man, put- 


PHILIP DE MONTARNAUD. 191 

ting his hand to his hat. “ The young ladies and I 
have indeed been fortunate.” 

“ Ah — yes, I see. Fortunate — oh, felix, infelix ! ” 
muttered the doctor, staring absently at the baskets 
of grapes, and then at the little girls, suddenly as quiet 
as mice in presence of the cat ; for most of them had 
been bred in wholesome awe of their elders and not one 
enjoyed the freedom permitted to the doctor’s mother- 
less girls. 

“ Betsey Foster, and Molly and Nancy Mayhew, Becca 
Fuller, Hannah Howland, Pris and Margot, — why, you 
have a cadet from all our houses, Lieutenant, not to 
mention the boys.” 

“Yes,” replied Montarnaud, gayly, “Margot asked 
who she would, and even if her taste is for her sister’s 
friends rather than those of her own age, it is her af- 
fair ; she is hostess.” 

“Well ; — nay, then — here, Pris, you ’re the oldest, 
take the reins, and drive home with these children. I 
have a word for Monsieur de Montarnaud, and will ask 
him to walk as far as widow Ring’s cottage ; she has 
sent for me.” 

“ But certainly, monsieur,” said the lieutenant readily, 
“ if Mademoiselle Marguerite will excuse me.” 

“ She must,” replied her father briefly ; and without 
pausing to notice the mutinous grimace Margot be- 
stowed upon her playmate as he made her a farewell 
bow, he put his hand within the vounsr man’s arm and 
led him away. 

“ You shall have one good walk before you lose the 
use of your legs,” said he, with rather a futile attempt at 
pleasantry. 

“ Lose the use of my legs ? ” echoed the lieutenant, 


192 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


glancing down at those shapely members, clad in doe- 
skin breeches and scarlet hose, a costume the young 
man had fancied as combining the trophies of the chase 
with indomitable gayety, and therefore suited to his 
captivity in the savage wilds of America. 

“ My poor boy, how shall I tell you my news ! ” said 
the doctor, with a sigh. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


NAUGHTY LITTLE DEBORAH. 

A few days later, Dr. LeBaron, summoned to Eleazer 
Rogers’ house near Ring’s Lane, took Burying Hill in his 
way, and paused, as was his wont, near Governor Brad- 
ford’s grave to consider the view, and to wonder if any 
one of the vessels creeping up from the underworld, 
and swelling their white sails bravely to the easterly 
wind as they swept past Elisha’s Point and Far Mano- 
met, brought news of Teresa, the cherished darling, 
whom, at her own earnest desire, he had spared to her 
widowed brother Lazarus in his tropical home. 

“ Our young parson would say ’t was sinful to yearn 
so for a face of flesh,” muttered he — “ but still I do, 
and must ! I wish I knew if that fellow trifled with 
her affections ; but no man could ever know it from her 
— my lily of France ! ” 

“ Good morning, Doctor LeBaron,” said a voice at 
his elbow, and as he turned sharply it was to meet per- 
haps the least welcome of any woman’s face in Plymouth. 
His own grew very cold, but raising his three-cornered 
hat with magnificent courtesy, he returned the saluta- 
tion : — 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Simeon Samson,” and would 
have passed, but was detained by a touch upon his 
sleeve. 

“ Shall you see your French friends to-day, sir ? ” 


194 DR. LeBALION AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ There are few days when I fail to spend some time 
in the prison to which you have consigned them.’ 

“ Well, you may do them a good office from me to- 
day. Captain Samson has escaped, and will soon be 
here. Then they may be released as before.” 

“ And where got you this news, madam ? ” 

“ That ’s no matter to you — and still — well, smile 
if you like, it will never harm me ; I ’ll tell you where I 
got this news. — God gave it to me.” 

‘-It is a large claim you make. May I ask you to 
explain ? ” 

“ Last night, sleeping or waking, I know not which, 
I had a vision. I saw my husband, Simeon Samson, 
dressed in woman’s clothes and standing on a sea 
beach ; the bows of a boat were to be seen through 
thick mist, and a man stood by with an oar in hand, to 
push off ; there was a woman too ” — 

“ Ah, a woman too ! I think the vision is founded 
upon experience, is it not, madam ? ” 

“ Oh, I knew you ’d jeer and flout me, in your hate- 
ful French way,” replied Deborah, bringing back her 
gaze from the quivering horizon line, and fixing it scorn- 
fully upon the doctor’s face ; “ and I never would have 
told you, but that to know he is free so filled me with 
charity toward all men that I wanted to send some 
comfort to those lads yonder, whom I pity ” — 

“ Even as the woman of your dream pitied your gay 
goodman,” suggested LeBaron. “ Well, I will tell my 
friends your dream ; even a laugh may do them some 
good.” 

“And I will add a word of counsel for your own 
benefit, Doctor. When you show yourself so bitter to- 
ward Simeon Samson and his wife, folk may wonder if 


NAUGHTY LITTLE DEBORAH. 195 


one near to you was slighted for that wife’s sake. It 
is not shrewd of you to set the women’s tongues wag- 
ging, Doctor.” 

“You are right, dame. Saint James says that the 
very fires of hell are kindled of them.” 

And, delivering this Parthian arrow, the doctor pur- 
sued his way so rapidly that he only half heard the 
retort. 

“ And he that hateth his brother shall taste the fervor 
of those fires.” 

Perhaps this encounter stirred the doctor’s spirit 
more than he would have chosen to say ; perhaps it re- 
vived grief and disappointment, too recent to sleep very 
soundly ; however it was, before he sat down to dinner 
he ordered Quasho to see that the chaise was properly 
cleaned and harnessed, and as the family rose from 
table he said : — 

“ Elizabeth, has Margaret been a good child this 
morning ? Sewed her sampler, and done her task to 
your mind ? ” 

“Yes, father, she has been a very good girl,” replied 
the elder sister, with a pretty motherly smile upon the 
little one. 

“ Then get on your hood, or bonnet, or whatever, and 
we will go to see the little girls I told you of, Margot.” 

“ Good, good ! But may n’t Philip go too ? ” de- 
manded the child, her great dark eyes full of tears. 

“ Poor fellow ! It is not his fault if he cannot,” re- 
plied her father. “ And who knows but in a few days 
he can? We shall see if we have a prophetess among 
us.” 

And, Margot, not pausing for an answer to the enig- 
ma, ran away to put on her cape, and let Elizabeth 


196 J)R. LeBARON and his daughters. 


button on some warm sleeves ; for the day was cold, and 
nobody in those days ever saw a girl’s dress made with 
high neck or long sleeves. A quaint little skull-cap 
hood, tied under the chin with cherry ribbons, completed 
the costume, and Margot settled herself in infinite con- 
tent at her father’s side, as, giving the rein to Black 
Bess, he drove rapidly through the town, past the field 
where twenty years before Quasho had pulled turnips 
and propounded conundrums to his master, and out 
upon the Kingston road. Again as on that day the 
doctor drew rein upon the bridge, just before entering 
the town, and looked long and silently upon the placid 
river, stealing through its ripe marsh-grasses to the sea, 
— looked at Captain’s Hill, and the Gurnet, and all the 
wealth of waters gleaming cold and bright in the au- 
tumn sunshine. 

“ A goodly sight, — a fair scene,” said he aloud, and 
turned to smile upon the child, who coldly replied : — 

“ I had rather see Philip.” 

“ What, don’t you care for nature, Margot ? ” de- 
manded her father, driving on. 

“ No, papa, I like people better.” 

“ You should have been born two or three genera- 
tions earlier in the LeBaron annals,” said the doctor, 
quizzically. “ Well, jump out and gather me those 
cardinal flowers, mademoiselle. I care for them, if you 
do not.” 

An hour later, Black Bess halted before the same 
ruinous old farmhouse where widow Crewe had lived, 
and her daughter died, that Ansel Ring and Molly 
Peach might try the force of a mother’s curse. 

A little more ruinous now, in spite of some clouting 
and patching, and set in fields a little more barren and 


NAUGHTY LITTLE DEBORAH. 


197 


neglected ; for Jonathan Samson, like his far-away cousin 
Simeon, was a sailor, and not a farmer, and when, in the 
division of his father’s property, his portion was eaten 
up in unlawful charges, and he was forced to accept 
this desolate little farm as all his inheritance, he left 
his wife and children upon it, and fled madly away 
from the face of men to the solitudes of the sea. No 
news ever came again to that lonely and impoverished 
home, and Deborah his wife, strong in the spirit of 
William Bradford her great grandsire, struggled on, as 
only such a woman can struggle, until of- a sudden the 
overwrought body gave way, and fell upon the wretched 
pallet whence it was never more to rise. 

She sent for no doctor, having no money to pay one ; 
but Lazarus LeBaron heard of her situation, and came 
to see her. 

“ Why did not you let me know of your condition 
before it came to this ? ” demanded he almost sternly, 
as he laid down the all but pulseless wrist. 

“ I could not pay you, Doctor, and I did not want to 
come upon the town. ’T will be bad enough for the 
children, and they with William Bradford and Myles 
Standish for their forbears ! ” 

And the poor soul fell to crying so piteously that the 
doctor feared to see her die before his eyes. 

“ They shall not come upon the town,” said he, raid- 
ing her head, and forcing a cordial between the pale 
lips. “ I will see that they come to no hardship. Nay, 
then, my friend, have you forgotten who is the orphan’s 
friend ? ” 

“ Oh, Doctor, Faith can’t stand up when Hope is n’t 
there to lean upon,” murmured the sick woman, bik 
terly. 


198 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ But Love can stand alone, and is the best of the 
three. Try to lean on that,” replied LeBaron, in a 
gentler voice than he often used. 

This was a fortnight ago, and now, as he tied Black 
Bess to the fence, the doctor looked curiously at the 
upper windows. 

“ Not yet,” said he aloud. “ Margot, you shall come 
in and warm yourself, and see the little girl ” — 

But a wild shriek, or succession of shrieks, from the 
house cut short his words, and the door flying violently 
open, a wild elf of a child sprang out, and, hastily gath- 
ering both hands full of sand and pebbles from the 
path, turned to discharge them with admirable aim in 
the face of a young woman who pursued her with a 
bunch of rods. 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! ” screamed the latter, dropping the 
rod, and clapping both hands to Her eyes. Oh, you 
little imp of Satan ” — 

“ What ’s all this ? ” interposed the doctor, sternly. 
“ What are you about, Polly Sweet ? I did n’t put you 
here to whip the children, nor to call them foul names, 
but to take care of their mother ” — 

“Well, she’s dead,” whimpered the young woman, 
drying her smarting eyes upon her apron. “ And when 
I sot out to tell the young ones, and send Billy to the 
neighbors for help to lay her out, that imp of a Deb, 
she up and flew in my face like a wildcat, trying to 
scratch my eyes out, and hollering that I was a liar. 
So I took the stick just to teach her manners ; and the 
first lick she got, out she flew ” — 

“ There, that will do. Go into the house, and Debo- 
rah stay out here and play with my little Margaret. 
Margot, this is the poor motherless child I told you of. 
Be good to her.” 


NAUGHTY LITTLE DEBORAH. 


199 


“ She ’s very dirty, papa,” said Margot, coldly. 

“ I ’m better than you, for all your fal-lals,” retorted 
Deborah, promptly. “ Go away ; we don’t want you 
here ; you ’re too fine.” 

And yet the French Revolution was a quarter of a 
century beyond them ! 

When the doctor went home, after arranging for the 
burial of the poor worn body and the safety of the two 
boys who were left behind, he carried little Deborah, 
wrapped in her mother’s cloak and seated in the bottom 
of the chaise. Margaret said but very little, and kept 
her skirts carefully tucked under her. Her father said 
less, but saw everything, and silently relinquished his 
unspoken plan of adopting Deborah into his own family. 

“ It would be bad for both, and worst of all for me,” 
murmured he to himself, as he drove into Plymouth. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE INDIAN SUMMER AND OBERRT. 

The Peace of Paris had become a fact as well as a 
phrase. The Nova Scotian border was settled ; the 
Acadians, returning in crowds to their old home, were 
welcomed as prodigal sons by the British government, 
which bestowed upon them lands and privileges, pro- 
ductive of envy and heartburning on the part of the 
elder sons who had never done amiss. Therkse Bru- 
nei was married to Victor Beaubien of Miramichi, and 
when she felt like it, threatened to go to Plymouth 
and join her uncle Bergeron, who had not returned to 
Acadia. Simeon Samson had been at home, satisfied 
himself that the Lydia’s ransom was honestly paid, and 
presently sailed again. The three French officers, re- 
leased with much rejoicing, still lingered in Plymouth, 
waiting to hear of a comfortable passage to France ; 
and the eleventh day of November had, with laudable 
punctuality, ushered in the summer of St. Martin, or, as 
the Pilgrims and their children preferred to call it, the 
Indian summer. Philip de Montarnaud, who had never 
encountered this delightful Americanism, was wild with 
the exhilaration of the air, the luxurious warmth, the 
subtle charm of a summer so potent that it can dispense 
with roses and foliage. 

“ It ’s superb in its self-assertion ! ” cried he. u It is 
like madame my mother, who in her white hair and 


THE INDIAN SUMMER AND OBERRY. 201 


tender coloring makes the young girls pale as the stars 
do before the moon.” 

“ I should like to see your mother, Philip,” said Mar- 
got, clasping her hands and raising her great dark eyes 
to his. 

The young man glanced laughingly at the doctor, who 
stood with them upon the brow of Cole’s Hill, silently 
drinking in the glory of Manomet and the deep and 
wide sea shimmering at the horizon line into a glory too 
dazzling for human sight. 

“ Perhaps — who knows, petite ? ” said the young 
man, but the father shook his head. 

“ I have had enough of forecasting the future ; what 
will be, will be,” said he. “ But come, we will have the 
chaise, with a stool for Margot, and drive along the sea 
road, perhaps as far as Ponds ” — 

“ Oh, papa, go to see the French people. I like that 
best of all our visits. I am so fond of Rosalie Daudin.” 

“ Fonder than of poor little Deborah Samson ? ” 
asked her father slyly, but Margot was not to be wiled 
into vehemence, and sedately replied, “Yes, papa; but 
I am glad Deborah has a good home in Middleboro’.” 

“ She might have had a good home with us, if you 
had been more amiable,” said the doctor gravely ; but 
Margot slid her hand into his, with an upward glance 
so coaxing that the man’s heart melted within him, and 
with a loving squeeze of the slender brown fingers he 
dropped them, and went to order the chaise. At the 
door he met Priscilla, a lissome lass, with sweet gray 
eyes and the prettiest, tiniest hands were ever seen. 

“ Father dear, I heard you tell Pompey to put oats in 
the chaise-box.” 

“ Yes, Pris ; what of it ? ” 


202 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ You will be away all day, then ? ” 

“ Perhaps ; why ? ” 

“ Why, you know to-morrow is Bessie’s wedding, and 
the parson and his wife and Ammy are coming to tea 
to-night.” 

“Yes, yes, I forgot. Ammy wants to gloat over our 
misery in taking tea for the last time with our own 
Bess. Well, I will be at home in time for the torture.” 

“ Oh, father ! Poor Ammy ! ” 

“ Rich Ammy, since he ’s to have our Bessie.” 

“ Indeed he is. And we thought, if you liked it, fa- 
ther, to ask Mrs. Hammatt and Lucy and her brother 
Abraham to join us. We were there at tea not long 
ago.” 

“ Very well,” replied the doctor, shortly, for although 
he knew that Elizabeth would be well and wisely mar- 
ried to the Rev. Ammi Robbins, brother of his own pas- 
tor, it was a great grief to lose her, and his aversion to 
the proposed feast of farewell was more real than simu- 
lated ; nor was this sorrow mitigated by Priscilla’s bash- 
ful suggestion of adding the Hammatts to such a party, 
for although the child was still short of her sixteenth 
birthday, people married young in those days, and the 
friendly village voice already coupled Priscilla’s name 
with that of Abraham Hammatt, whose father, prosper- 
ing on the sea, had established a ropewalk under charge 
of his son, where, for many years to come, cordage and 
cables for the Plymouth shipping were laid with the 
skill and conscience of men who felt that other men’s 
lives might depend upon the honesty of their labors. 

So, although the doctor liked the Hammatts, father 
and son, and had an affection for the wife and mother, 
dating back to the day when she so bravely accepted 


THE INDIAN SUMMER AND 0 BERRY. 203 


her lover in face of the selectmen, he did not like to 
hear of their being included in this family tea-party, 
and turned away from the kitchen door with a sup- 
pressed sigh, to meet the chaise Quasho was solemnly 
leading out of the stable yard. 

“ Where ’s young Pomp ? ” demanded the master, 
stepping into the low carriage. 

“ Gone to look fer Old Pride, I ’spect,” replied Quash, 
peevishly. “ ’Tween ’em they ’re enough to make a 
pore ole nigger ready ’nough to renounce dis wicked 
world, wid all its pomps, prides, an’ oder bedevilments.” 

“ Glad to see you know your catechism so well, Quash ; 
and when you get hold of that boy again, I advise you 
to teach him that the way of the transgressor is hard.” 

“ An’ de way of de good man so mighty soft dat he 
apt to get bogged up to de middle,” replied Quash, 
crossly, as he glanced at a muck-cart already prepared 
for an expedition to the swamps, whose tenacious black 
mud makes a capital dressing for the sandy soil of 
Plymouth gardens. 

But a little later, the doctor, ever a passionate lover 
of Nature, forgot all frets and worries, even the loss of 
his beloved daughters, in the deep delight of living ; for 
the day was one of those that seem sent to tenderly lure 
man from earth to paradise, thrilling with mystic touch 
those nerves whose vibrations pass like waves of sound 
far beyond the ken of their first motion. Who has not 
stood, on such a day, with bated breath and eager eye, 
and all the soul on tiptoe with anticipation of some 
audible music of the spheres, some visible rift in the 
glittering arch of heaven, some widening out of the 
horizon of a sea that seems no other than the pathway 
of a glorious eternity ? Who has not felt that the veil 


204 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


between us and the things that eye hath not seen, nor 
ear heard, nor the heart of man comprehended, has 
grown so attenuate that only its own dazzling glory pre- 
vents us from piercing it ? 

Ah, well, ye who know what I mean, remember that 
Nature is but a type, and that Hope beckons us on to 
behold the antitype, whose perfectness we may not as 
yet even imagine. 

The doctor was very silent as he drove along the sea 
road, or stopped now and again at some vantage point 
to contemplate the view; for, as in many another 
moment of his life, he felt himself more Alone than in 
solitude. 

Margot, who by some caprice of heredity had taken 
the character of her French ancestry, with very little 
impress from the father through whom it came, was cold 
and careless of scenery, and Philip de Montarnaud, 
polished gentleman that he was, treated Nature with 
the same elaborate courtesy he would have showed to 
any other lady with whom he was not much acquainted ; 
making such pretty compliments to the view from Man- 
omet Point that the doctor somewhat peremptorily pro- 
posed that he and Margot should get out and look 
for checkerberries among the stunted shrubbery at 
hand. 

An hour or so later, Black Bess was halted before the 
largest of a little group of cottages of the most primitive 
construction, recently built in that corner of Plymouth 
still called Oberry. As the doctor fastened his horse to 
a post, while Philip helped Margot to alight, an old 
woman, with healthy frost-red cheeks, bright blue eyes, 
and hair whiter even than her Norman cap, appeared at 
the door, and in a voice at once respectful and affection- 


THE INDIAN SUMMER AND OBERRY. 205 

ate, bade the doctor welcome, in a language more like 
the French of France than that of Acadia. 

“ Ah, mother Bergeron ! ” cried he, in the French of 
Paris, “ I have brought my little girl, you see, and also 
a compatriot of yours, Monsieur de Montarnaud, who 
can give you late news from la belle France.” 

“ But I am honored exceedingly, and so are my chib 
dren ! ” exclaimed the old woman, curtsying again and 
again. “ The little granddaughter will be proud beyond 
saying to welcome mademoiselle. Ah, Julie, come 
here then, and speak for yourself ! And will the 
gentlemen give themselves the trouble to enter ? ” 

“ Indeed we will, for I am famishing with thirst, and 
nothing will quench it but a glass of your cider, mother 
Bergeron,” said the doctor, taking off his three-cornered 
hat, and passing a handkerchief across his high but 
somewhat narrow forehead. 

“We have it just new, and yet ripe enough to be 
safe,” declared the old woman, well pleased. “And 
mademoiselle must have a little glass of my raspberry 
cordial and a bit of galette. And monsieur — pardon 
if I ask once more — ah, then, I have surely seen — 
pardon, monsieur — I am but a silly old woman, and 
yet — the eyes of monsieur are so strangely like my 
darling little lady’s — indulge an old woman, monsieur, 
and tell me if you are of the family De Vielleroche ? ” 

“ My mother is n6e Frangoise de Vielleroche,” replied 
Philip de Montarnaud, polite but puzzled. 

“ Did not my heart tell me so ! ” exclaimed the old 
woman, clasping her hands, while the russet-bloom 
spread over all her face. 

“ She was my foster child, — my poor little Babette’s 
foster sister. They said I gave her Babette’s life, 


206 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 

but if so it was her right ; the Lavels and Bergerons 
served the Seigneurs de Vielleroche in the days of the 
great Henri, and it was her right ” — 

“ You were my mother’s foster mother ! ” cried Philip, 
seizing the old woman’s two hands, and looking eagerly 
into her face. 

u But yes, monsieur, but yes ; and my old heart 
warmed to the beautiful eyes of her so soon as I saw 
them looking at me out of the face of monsieur. Ah, 
del ! It is the first moment of joy I have known in 
the fifty years I have lived in exile here in this land so 
triste, so savage, so desolate. The good God saw that 
I could bear no more, and has sent me this moment ” — 
“ What is it, grandmkre ? ” cried a blithe young voice, 
and in at the back door of the cottage tripped a pretty 
girl, her brown face rosy, and her black eyes bright with 
the exertion of bringing in a great basket of late pears. 
A Normandy cap of snow-white muslin nearly covered 
her glossy hair, and a kerchief of the same material 
was crossed upon her bosom. Seeing the strangers, she 
started, colored painfully, and made a movement to 
withdraw, but the doctor gayly cried : — 

“ No escape, Alix ! We have all seen you, and know 
as well as if you told us that Jean Daudin is just out- 
side, and has been helping you house the pears.” 

“Nay, monsieur, they are a present to grandmere 
from — from his father, who gathered them in the garden 
of Monsieur Yasson ” — 

“ Watson, — Squire Watson ? ” interposed the doctor, 
laughing. “ I knew he had Daudin at work for him, 
but it was Jean fils, and not Jean pkre, that brought 
them over to you, now was n’t it, Alix ? ” 

“ But yes, monsieur le Docteur. Pkre Daudin has 


THE INDIAN SUMMER AND 0 BERRY. 207 


taught his children to wait upon him,” replied Alix, de- 
murely ; and having put her basket in a corner, she 
applied herself to helping her grandmother set out the 
simple refreshments she was proud to offer to her 
guests. 

An hour or so passed by, to be marked in red letter 
upon poor homesick Marie Bergeron’s calendar, for the 
young Frenchman indulged her to the uttermost in de- 
scriptions of his mother and her married home, of the 
old chateau de Yielleroche, where he had often visited 
his grandparents and uncle and aunt, and of his own 
adventures in the service of his native land. At length 
the doctor interposed, watch in hand, and reminded 
Philip that they had still some visits to pay, and the tea- 
party in prospect. Then drawing Mother Bergeron 
apart, he inquired : — 

“ Is it decided that Alix will marry Jean Daudin ? ” 

“ But surely yes, monsieur.” 

“ And what about a priest ? ” 

“ All, monsieur, there is the only sorrow of our hearts ! 
None can tell us where our own dear Pkre Augustin has 
been carried, and we know no one in this melancholy 
place. Even Pere LeBlanc, the notary, has been carried 
who knows where. If you were a notary, monsieur 
le Docteur, we would rather confide the marriage to you 
than to wait for some priest who will never come.” 

“ I will tell you, mother Bergeron. We have a minis- 
ter, if not a priest, who speaks French admirably, and 
the law holds his marriage as valid as a notary’s or as 
Pere Augustin’s.” 

“ A heretic, monsieur ! ” murmured the old woman, 
crossing herself and drawing back. 

“ A Protestant like myself, — yes, but as good a man 


208 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


and faithful a shepherd of souls as lives,” replied the 
doctor, rather severely. “ And his marriage will be 
legal, and he can solemnize it in French. Talk it over 
among yourselves, and some day when I am up here 
let me know your decision. And now, good-by. Come, 
Margot, say the last word to Julie, and jump in. Adieu, 
Alix ; ask your grandmere what I have said to her. 
Now, then, Philip ! ” 

And the yellow-bodied chaise creaked once upon its 
easy springs, and then rolled down the sandy road, its 
hood wagging up and down at each step, as if nodding 
assent to the merry chatter going on beneath it. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 

“ Look here, Quash ! What ’s this I hear about 
you ? ” 

“ Lors, mas’r, how kin I tell ? Mabbe you hear I 
done git de sleigh down and rub it all up fine, ready fer 
de snow dat ’s hangin’ ober Cap’n’s HilL ,, 

“ No, sir. What did you say to Judge Paine, only 
this morning ? ” 

“ You don’ mean to say dat ole gen’leman got round 
quick as dis fer ter tell you, mas’r ! Well, dat jis’ prove 
de truf o’ what I said.” 

“ Well, what was it ? ” 

“ W’y, mas’r, I met de jedge cornin’ out o’ Mas’ 
Howland’s ; he so gran’ dat he can’t go to common tav- 
erns sech as ” — 

“ Never mind your opinion as to either him or the 
taverns, — what did you say to him, sirrah ? ” 

“ W’y, mas’r, I des offer him de complimen’s ob de 
season, and pullin’ off my hat berry respeckful I says, 
‘ Good-mornin’, Jedge,’ ” says I. ‘ What ’s de news dis 
mornin’, Jedge ? ’ says I ; an’ he lay he head back like 
as ole Kate does w’en she goin’ to kick, an’ sort o’ 
sighted ’long de side ob he great nose tryin’ fer ter 
make out w’ere dat mis’able no account nigger mout be 
dat dare ax him a ques’ion ; an’ w’en he foun’ me he 
kind o’ consider me a minute, an’ den growls out, 6 All 
de news dat consarn you is, de debble ’s dead ! ’ So I 


210 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


jes t’ank him for his perliteness, an’ says, says I, ‘ Sho ! 
Dat pore feller dead ! Well, I knowed he was in pain 
dis long time, but did n’ spec he ’d ’scaped out ! ’ Dat 
all I said, mas’r, ’clare to gracious ’t is ! ” 

“ That ’s all, is it ! Well, sir, I advise you not to get 
yourself into court this week, while Justice Paine is on 
the bench.” 

“ Specs I ’d fin’ justice ’thout mercy, shore ; ” and 
Quasho was going away chuckling, when a breathless 
boy upon a hard-trotting horse drew rein at the head of 
the alley where the doctor was standing, and delivered 
a message to the effect that Mrs. Wadsworth of Marsh- 
field was very ill, and must see Doctor LeBaron without 
delay. 

“ Why did n’t she send for one of the Marshfield 
doctors ? ” asked the doctor in a vexed voice. “ I don’t 
care for practice twenty miles from home.” 

“ Dat Miss Lizzie Doten, ain’t it ? ” inquired Quash, 
who had paused to assist at the interview. 

“ Yes,” replied his master, crossly. 

“Well, seem to me mighty nat’ral dat de pore soul 
want to show she don’ bear no grudge ’gainst mas’r doc- 
tor fer fotchin’ her inter de worl’ by gibbin him a 
chance to help her out.” 

“ There, that will do, Quasho. You ’ve reached the 
end of your tether.” 

“ Guess den I better go an’ put ole Kate inter de 
sulky, had n’t I, mas’r ? ” 

“No, I ’ll take Black Bess. It ’s a long drive,” re- 
plied the doctor, absently ; and Quasho shuffled away, 
muttering, — 

“ Know’d he ’d go to Lizzie Doten.” 

Quentin Wadsworth’s farm was on the outskirts of 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 


211 


Marshfield, toward the sea, and as the doctor listened to 
Elizabeth’s entreaties, and waited for dinner before he 
started, it was already twilight when he arrived at the 
lonely gray house, so squat to the ground and so sur- 
rounded with tentacle-like out-buildings and additions 
that it much resembled a great gray spider with all its 
legs extended in the effort to cling to the ground, whence 
the raging autumn winds constantly sought to wrench it. 

A pocket of arable land niched in among the sand- 
dunes and extending back among the evergreen woods 
composed the farm on land, and limitless miles of ocean 
rolling almost to his doorstep was the farmer’s planta- 
tion at sea, and the source of more than half his revenue. 

A garden, hedged and diked from the salt spray and 
biting winds, lay at the south of the house, and in its 
most sheltered corner stood a row of basket beehives, 
their product giving the farmer’s wife her pocket money, 
or, if she chose, her private hoard. 

With his hand upon the great iron latch of the kitchen 
door, the doctor paused and looked around. 

“ A dirty night, and something more than that,” said 
he, glancing at the dense black clouds rolling up across 
the low-hung gray of the sky, and listening to the 
peculiar moan of the sea making upon the Marshfield 
flats. 

“ Looks as if the line storm had forgot something 
and come back to look for it,” drawled a slow voice at 
his ear, and the doctor turned to greet a long, lean, 
melancholy man in early middle life, whose yellow skin 
and eyes and colorless lips told their mournful tale of 
dyspepsia and bilious depression. 

“ Come in, Doctor. I expect the woman ’s going to- 
night. Tide sets out ’bout three in the morning. It ’s 


212 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


making now, and fetching in ugly weather. It ’ll he a 
main bad night for her to go. Seems as though any- 
thing as light as a sperit would blow away in such a gale 
as is coming, — could n’t fetch, somehow.” 

The doctor turned and looked at him with a profes- 
sional eye. 

“ Do you eat those sour apples before breakfast, as I 
told you ? ” demanded he. 

“ Consid’able often, Doctor, but some days I don’t 
feel to eat nothing.” 

“ But you drink coffee, instead ? ” 

“ Now and agin, Doctor.” 

“ Like to feel sick, don’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t know as I like it first rate, Doctor.” 

“ Why, yes, you do, or else you ’re a fool, and I 
should n’t like to think that of you. I told you that 
coffee and chocolate and fat pork and molasses all were 
bad for you. I told you that acid fruit and stale wheat 
bread and lean meat and raw eggs and some other 
things were good for you. You choose the first lot and 
neglect the second, so I can only conclude you love to be 
sick. Now take me to your wife.” 

“ She ’s in grandma’am’s part ; said the bedroom was 
too cramped like.” 

And Wadsworth led the way from the great empty 
kitchen through a dark passage to what had once been 
the farmhouse ; but another front having been added 
to the structure at Quentin’s marriage, it had now be- 
come simply “ the old part,” where Quentin’s father and 
mother had lived and died, the latter event being of 
very recent occurrence. Here, in a large low room 
darkened by curtains of striped linseywoolsey of her 
own spinning and weaving, lay poor Lizzie Wadsworth 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 


213 


dying of consumption, and pining, as Plymouth people 
always do in misfortune or illness, for the quaint old 
town by the sea. 

The doctor looked at her, and hardly needed to lay a 
finger upon the thready pulse or to bend his ear toward 
the laboring lungs to know that the end was close at 
hand, and that only as a man and as a Christian could 
he be of any use. 

So sitting down beside the bed, he began to speak m 
a quiet, cheerful way of the old days when Lizzie Doten 
with some of his own daughters were scholars together 
at Mistress Molly Cobb’s dame school, on North Street, 
where they were taught that s,h,a,l,l spelt shawl, and Mis- 
tress Cobb illustrated the instruction by twitching at 
her own little plaid shoulder-shawl, and saying, “ Like 
this, you know, child.” Furthermore, after spelling out 
the sentence, “ Hot love is soon cold,” they were told, 
“ Yes, hot loaf is soon cold if you set it eend up, in the 
butt’ry window, as you ’d oughter.” 

“ The house and all is gone now, though,” whispered 
the sick woman, forgetting her own ill feelings for the 
moment. 

“ Yes, Josiah Rider bought it and built a new house, 
and afterward sold it to his sister, widow Jackson, who 
kept a chocolate shop there ten years or more; and 
excellent chocolate she made, as good as I have ever 
drunk. Well, poor soul, her labors are over at last, and 
she is at rest.” 

“ Widow Hannah Jackson dead ! ” murmured the 
sick woman, one of the ruling passions of her sex strong 
even then. 

“Yes, a year or two since, and left her house and 
land to her ‘granddaughter, Elizabeth Shurtleflc, whom 
I dare say you remember.” 


214 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“Yes, but younger than we were.” 

“ I suppose so, — yes. Well, Elizabeth has married 
Ephraim Spooner, a fine brisk young fellow and well 
to do. He has bought the land through to King Street, 
where our malcontents built a church and presently 
pulled it down again, and he has opened an alley through 
from Howland Street to King Street, just answering 
my alley from King to Leyden Street, and ” — 

But the eyelids had slowly fallen, and the lines of 
sleepless pain were fading out of the forehead, in a 
blessed moment of obliviousness ; so the doctor allowed 
his low tones to gently lapse into silence, and folding 
his arms leaned back, watching the glorious gleams of 
color, metallic blue, softest rose, green, and royal purple, 
that shot fitfully up from the driftwood upon the fire, 
a section of the stern part of some long-forgotten craft ; 
heart of oak, and hard to conquer it was, but the cruel 
creeping tongues of flame lapped again and again over 
the firm-grained plank, until the last moist breath was 
scorched away, and then they danced upon the black- 
ened surface, and ate deeper and deeper toward the 
heart. 

“ I saw the same thing in Paris,” muttered the doc- 
tor, his memory going back to certain glittering temp- 
tations his youth had resisted, not altogether from pure 
horror of sin, but partly from keen observation of the 
effect of their indulgence upon his comrades. 

The reverie was broken by an invitation to supper, as 
the evening meal was honestly called when tea was 
hardly known. 

A young girl, daughter of the housekeeper, came to 
sit with the sick woman, and the doctor, cautioning her 
to be quiet, returned to the kitchen, where* his host and 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 215 

the good woman who “ did ” for him, and intended, 
after a decent interval, to marry him, stood waiting, one 
at either end of a table without a cloth, whereon stood 
what might well have been the remains of Miss Mirny 
Nourse’s dinner. On a huge pewter platter lay a mass 
of cold salt beef, with another of pork, and around both 
a wreath of cold vegetables ; a loaf of rye and Indian 
bread, a quarter of a cheese, a plate of butter, a dish of 
simballs, a jug of cider and another of milk : such was 
the feast, and probably ninety-nine out of a hundred of 
the supper tables set out that evening in the Old Colony 
would have borne a marvelous resemblance to it. 

The master of the house asked a blessing (for although 
men in those days were chary of compliments to each 
other, they had not learned to be discourteous toward 
God, and always thanked Him for his gifts), and then 
the little party sat down. 

“ About as heavy a storm as I ’ve seen this ten year 
back,” said Wadsworth, piling his guest’s plate. 

“ Yes, — a wild night, a wild night,” said the doctor 
absently, for the noise of the lashing waves upon the 
flat shore, the shrieking of the wind, and swirl of the 
rain driven like shot upon the window panes, combined 
in his consciousness with the sense of impending death, 
and produced one of those abstracted and exalted moods 
before which the details of ordinary life pass almost un- 
heeded. 

“ I ’ve got a bed all made up for the doctor, Mr. 
Wadsworth,” said the housekeeper, as they rose from 
table. 

“ I ’m obliged to you, but I shall not use it yet,” re- 
plied the doctor, turning with his hand upon the latch. 
“ I will sit awhile with my patient. Wadsworth, I 
hardly think she ’ll last till the turn of the tide.” 


216 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


“ She ’s a very sick woman, 1 know, but they mostly 
go out with the tide,” replied the husband, phlegmat- 
ically. 

“ I guess I ’ll see if she don’t want some gruel or 
something before you set down with her,” said the house- 
keeper, taking a little copper skillet from the corner of 
the fireplace, and pouring the contents into a bowl. 
“ Pity to waste plum-porridge when you ’ve got it 
made.” 

“ It would be wasted indeed if she swallowed it,” 
said the doctor, “ but she won’t ; ” and in effect, when 
a few moments later he entered the sick-room, he found 
little Nancy greedily devouring the porridge, while her 
mother, solemnly shaking her head, left the room, say- 
ing:— 

“ Mis’ Wadsworth’s eat her last mess o’ gruel in this 
world.” 

“ Let us hope she will be asked to eat none in the 
world to come,” muttered the doctor, who detested 
gruel, but neither the housekeeper nor Nancy heard 
this pious aspiration ; and presently, with a hearth clean 
swept, two or three fresh candles near by, and a pretty 
little vellum-covered French treatise on the possibility 
of an Elixir Vitae in his hand, the doctor settled himself 
to read and think, to watch the driftwood as it flamed 
in fiery iris, and to listen to the spirit of the storm 
madly shrieking for entrance to that death-room. 
Suddenly the doctor laid down his French book, and 
fetching a great Bible from the table between the win- 
dows turned to the Song of the Three Children, and 
read aloud as if to invisible auditors. 

“ But the angel of the Lord came down into the fur- 
nace together with Azarias and his fellows, and smote 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 


217 


the flame of the fire out of the oven, and made the 
midst of the furnace as it had been a moist whistling 
wind, so that the fire touched them not at all, neither 
hurt nor troubled them .’ 5 And again turning the leaves 
he added, in the voice of one who confutes an adversary, 
“ Behold the Lord’s hand is not shortened that it can- 
not save, neither his ear heavy that it cannot hear ! ” 
“ Even as he rescued those, so shall he rescue this.” And 
being all alone with God, and the Prince of the Power 
of the Air, and his servant Death, Doctor LeBaron knelt 
beside the deathbed, and prayed silently and fervently, 
and after his own fashion. 

Midnight struck, and almost immediately the bed- 
room door opened very quietly to admit the husband. 

“ How is she ? ” whispered he. 

“Very low. Going fast. She is unconscious.” 

“ Can you tell how long ? ” 

“ Not precisely. Perhaps an hour.” 

“ Tide turns at three.” 

“ I cannot tell if she will wait for it.” 

“Well, I want to know very particular just a few 
minutes before she goes.” 

“ I will call you, but probably she will not be con- 
scious.” 

“ That ’s no matter. I ’d like to know sure.” 

“ Well, I will call you.” 

The door closed as softly as it had opened, but in an- 
other hour reopened, and the same colloquy ensued. 

Again at two, and the doctor grew rather ashamed 
of not having appreciated the tender affection of the 
undemonstrative husband, and suggested : — 

“ You had better come and sit here with me. Possibly 
she may be conscious for a moment, at the last.” 


218 dr. Lebanon and his daughters. 


“ No, I ’ve got to get ready and be right on hand be- 
fore the last breath ’s got cold on the air. But I might 
wait in here, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, wait in here,” said the doctor, stooping to lis- 
ten to the fluttering breath. “ Each moment may be the 
last.” 

The farmer disappeared, and the doctor, a finger on 
the pulse and his eyes upon that gray changed face, sat 
thinking his own thoughts and waiting to see the end. 

Once more the door opened, and a strange burly 
figure entered ; it was indeed Quentin Wadsworth, but 
so disguised that LeBaron, for the moment, saw in 
him only the embodiment of his own fantastic visions. 
A yellow oilskin coat covered him from head to heel, 
and was girt about the middle with a red woolen scarf ; 
a hat of the same material, and furnished with a cape 
falling upon the shoulders, was tied down bonnet-wise 
by a little plaid shawl belonging to Nancy ; a tin lan- 
tern, pierced with many holes, through which shone a 
dubious and broken light, was in his hand, and it was in 
a voice hoarse with emotion that he whispered : — 

“ Is she going ? It ’s ’most three.” 

“ Almost gone. Are you going for the minister, or 
Doctor Willis ? ” 

“ Nary one. She saw the minister to-day, and Willis 
ain’t a patch on you for a doctor.” 

“ What, then ? ” 

“ Why, I ’m going to tell the bees ! Did n’t you know 
why I was so pertikler about bein’ called ? If there ’s a 
death, and you don’t tell the bees of it, first thing ’fore 
the breath ’s cold, they ’ll all leave early in the morning, 
and you ’ll never see them again.” 


THE PRICE OF A WOMAN. 219 

“ And that was why you were so anxious to know the 
moment of her death ? ” 

“Yes, that was it.” 

“ How fond you are of — your bees ! ” 

The man paused for a slow moment of pondering, and 
then said in his heavy tones : — 

“ I s’pose you mean I ain’t fond of my wife, but I 
am. Fact is I ’m free to confess I ’d rather have lost 
every bee I ’ve got ; why, I ’d rather have lost the best 
cow in my herd than lost that woman, I had so ! But 
if I ’ve got to lose her, why, it don’t make it any better 
to lose the bees inter the bargain, and she was main 
fond of ’em herself.” 

“ Yes, yes, I see — be quiet now ! ” And fifteen min- 
utes ticked away, while the husband stood like a statue, 
and the doctor, with his back to him, sat wiping the 
death damps from that cadaverous face, and revolving 
many thoughts in a mind that seldom found full ex- 
pression. 

At last he turned his head, and motioned toward the 
door with his hand. Quentin Wadsworth stirred, hesi- 
tated, then on laborious tiptoe drew near the bed, gazed 
for a moment, then stooped and kissed the clammy 
brow. 

“ Good-by, Liz,” muttered he ; but the doctor, moving 
impatiently, said : — 

“ Go tell the bees, man, or you may lose them into 
the bargain.” 

And as the old eight-day clock in the kitchen with 
moan and groan struck three, and the tide on Marsh- 
field flats hung lifeless for a moment before it turned to 
the ebb, Lizzie Wadsworth’s soul went forth to meet its 


220 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Judge, and her husband, breasting the howling wind, 
hung over the beehives and chanted : — 

“ Bees, I tell you of a death, 

And bring you here the parting breath ! 

Death has come and death has gone : 

Make your honey in the morn.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


A SCENE OF HORROR. 

“ Doctor, if you ain’t in too great of a hurry, I ’d be 
very much beholden to you to stop as you go apast the 
buryin’ ground, and help me pick out a spot for Lizzie. 
Somehow I don’t like to go alone to such places, with 
death in the house and all.” 

The doctor’s smile was quizzical, but his answer was 
courteous. 

“ I will gladly do all I can to please you, friend 
Wadsworth, for you have taught me much of human 
nature.” 

Quentin Wadsworth cogitated this reply all the way 
to the graveyard, but never arrived at its interpretation, 
and for the rest of his life rather resented it. 

The grave was soon selected, and while Quentin drove 
some little stakes to mark its boundaries, the doctor went 
a few steps farther to read an epitaph of which he was 
fond. 

“ Here Lyes Ye Ashes 
Of Ye Reverend Learned 
& Pious Mr Edward Tompson 
Pastor of Ye Church of 
Marshfield who Suddenly 
Departed This Life March 
Ye 16th 1705 
Anno ^Etatis Suee 40 

44 Here in a Tyrant’s Hand Doth Captive Lye 
A Rare Synopsis of Divinity, 


222 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Old Patriarchs, Prophets, Gospel Bishops Meet 
Under Deep Silence in their winding Sheet ; 

Here Rest Awhile in Hope, with Full Intent 
When their King Calls to Meet in Parliament.” 

“ Looking at old Parson Tompson’s stone, Doctor ? 
Ah, he was a learned man ! I ’ve heard the old folks 
say his sermons were staffed so full of Greek and Latin 
you could hardly understand a word of ’em. He wan’t 
the man to put his neighbors to an open shame talking 
at ’em in meeting, as some folks do. I ’d like to set 
under just such another man ” — 

“ ‘ To sit in Parliament,’ ” murmured the doctor, 
catching at the only word his brain had assimilated. 

“ Eh ? ” gasped Quentin. 

“ Oh, yes — yes, the reverend doctor died only a few 
months after my father, and I dare say they were ac- 
quainted.” 

“ Like enough, like enough ; doctors and parsons mostly 
are acquainted. Well, sir, I’ll bid you good-day, and 
am greatly obliged for your company. I suppose there ’ll 
be a pretty heavy bill, but if you ’ll be kind of easy ” — 

“ It ’s got to be all paid up before you marry again ; 
mind that, Wadsworth, or I ’ll come and kill your bees.” 

And the doctor, stepping into his sulky, nodded to his 
astonished debtor, touched Black Bess with the whip, 
and set off on his long drive over the sandy roads 
and through the melancholy autumn woods between 
Marshfield and Plymouth. 

He was within a few miles of home, and already won- 
dering what Elizabeth would have ready for dinner, 
when both he and Bess were startled by a succession 
of piercing shrieks and cries of “ Murder ! Murder ! 
Help ! Fire ! Murder ! ” — all in the gasping voice of 


A SCENE OF HORROR. 


223 


a woman, who ran and stumbled and fell, and picked 
herself up, but never stopped shrieking for one single 
moment. 

“ Whoa, Bess ! Be quiet, you beast ! Who ’s there ? 
This way ! ” 

And not waiting for his call to be obeyed, the doctor 
sprang from his carriage, knotted the rein around a 
tree, and hastened up the narrow wood-road whence 
came the shrieks and exclamations. Just around the 
first turn he had to step suddenly aside into the bushes, 
to avoid collision with the frantic creature who uttered 
them, and who, in all the blind terror of a frightened 
animal, was plunging past, never seeing him, when the 
doctor, who knew the face of every man, woman, and 
child within ten miles of his own door, caught her by the 
arm, exclaiming : — 

“ Hannah Crombie, what ’s the matter with you ? 
You ’re safe now, girl ; stop screaming, and tell me what 
has so frightened you.” 

“ O Doctor LeBaron ! Oh, Doctor ! ” 

“ Well, what is it, child ? ” 

“ Oh, little Molly and Neddie, and Dorcas and baby 
— oh, oh, oh ! ” 

“ Has something happened to the children ? Where 
are Mr. English and your mistress ? ” 

“ All, all, every one of them, he and all, and I to 
come in on them singing away as happy — oh, I ’ll 
never sing again, never, never, n-e-v-e-r ! ” And with 
the frightened quaver of her last word Hannah went off 
into violent hysterics, and slipped from the doctor’s grasp 
to the ground, where she lay writhing almost like an epi- 
leptic. The doctor watched her for a moment; then 
dragging her into the middle of the grassy road, where 


224 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


she could not hurt herself, he left her, and hastened on 
to the pretty little clearing upon the hill rising from the 
banks of the placid river so often referred to, where Icha- 
bod English had built a house and carried home a bride 
some years before. This bride was Acsah Ring, the 
last surviving child, save one, of Ansel Ring and Molly 
Peach ; and when she, left quite destitute at her mother’s 
death, was so fortunate as to attract the attention of the 
young stranger just arrived from over seas to settle in 
Plymouth, people said that mother Crewe’s curse was 
worn out, and that one, at least, of Molly Peach’s chil- 
dren was to prosper and be happy. 

But now ! 

The kitchen door lay wide open to the sunshine 
which succeeded the storm of the previous night, and 
on the millstone step sat a shepherd dog, his nose up- 
raised, howling fearfully ; near at hand a cat, with bris- 
tling fur, expanded tail, and great glaring green eyes, 
wandered restlessly up and down, occasionally licking 
her chops in a nervous kind of fashion, and uttering a 
distressful yowl. 

Doctor LeBaron, who studied animals as keenly as 
he did men and Nature, looked at both these, and his 
healthy cheek grew pale. 

“Something fearful has come this way,” said he 
aloud, and pushing past the dog, who looked at him and 
ceased howling, he passed into the kitchen, which was 
clean and empty, and through it to the sitting-room, 
then to the parlor, and at last to the great sunny bed- 
room, where some six months before he had attended 
Acsah and her last baby. 

At the door he stopped, and clung to the casing in 
utter amazement and horror. Upon the bed lay the 


A SCENE OF HORROR. 


225 


mother with the baby in her arms, both dead, while the 
scarlet stain upon their night-robes told what death they 
had died. On the floor, upon a blanket spread, in the 
ghastly irony of insanity, to protect their little forms 
from the hard floor, lay three children, Molly, and 
Neddie, and Dorcas, their pretty faces calm and white, 
their little limbs straightened, and their hands folded 
each upon its breast, above the wound that had let their 
young lives out. 

At a table, his body fallen forward across it, his dead 
fingers crisped upon a pistol resting upon his knee, lay 
Ichabod English, the husband and father of those 
around him, and from whom he had now forever 
divided himself. 

For some moments Doctor LeBaron stood staring at 
this scene with incredulous horror, every faculty frozen 
in awful amazement. He was aroused by the dog, who 
had quietly followed him in, and stood expectant of 
some help to those he loved ; finding that none came, 
he turned upon the intruder with a savage growl and a 
grim bark, that said as plainly as words : “ Help them, 
or you shall be as they ! ” 

The man understood, for there are moments when 
reason and instinct need no words to interpret each to 
each, and, rousing himself, he muttered : — 

“ Yes, Jack, yes, but it ’s only too sure ! ” and taking 
off his hat he passed into the room, carefully skirting 
the blanket so precisely laid, and leaning over the bed 
drew aside the linen from the mother’s breast. A little 
wound, accurately delivered at the precise point to in- 
sure instantaneous death, both sure and deep ; another 
through the baby’s tender bosom, and still its soft mouth 
bore the curve of baby fright and pain, although the 


226 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


eyes were closed as if in sleep. The mother’s face bore 
no impress of terror, and both face and limbs had been 
carefully composed to decent rest soon after death ; but 
as the hours went on, there had grown upon that face, 
as we most of us have watched expressions grow upon 
the faces of our dead, a faint smile of awful meaning ; 
a smile of pity and of wonder, of yearning love, and yet 
of eternal farewell ; a smile which told more of the 
mysteries beyond the veil than Death often reveals. 

The doctor drew the sheet over that telltale face, 
and passed to the children, then to the father ; but as he 
examined the pistol wound through the right temple, 
and saw that the fingers so tightly clenched in death 
must have taken their grasp in life, his face grew stern 
and hard. 

“ It is his own work — and they too ! ” 

Upon the table, close beside the pistol lay, a thick let- 
ter, held in place by a sharp and slender dagger of Ital- 
ian make, pierced through it to the table. The handle 
had been a cross, but Ichabod English was a Cove- 
nanter, and so hated the emblem, which to him meant 
not Christ, but the Pope, that he had mutilated it be- 
yond recognition ; and the shadow which fell from it 
across his fallen head resembled more an accusing 
finger than the cross whereby the penitent robber was 
pardoned and saved even at the eleventh hour. 

This letter was superscribed in a bold and steady 
hand, 

To 

Doctor Lazarus LeBaron 
These. 

And with great surprise the doctor drew out the 
dagger, and carried the pierced letter into the open air 
to read. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE LETTER. 

c< Doctor LeBaron, — It seems to me probable that 
you will be the first person of responsibility and author- 
ity called to witness the work I mean to accomplish 
this day, and I therefore address to you some explana- 
tion of a course which you naturally will condemn, but 
yet one which I am fain to believe God will approve. 

“You know, as do all the Fathers of Plymouth, how I 
have striven, since I came among you, to earn an honest 
livelihood, and to live decently and soberly before God 
and man ; but as you may not know, there are those who 
come into the world under a curse, and whose most 
strenuous exertions do not deliver them therefrom. My 
mind has been much exercised of late upon the doctrine 
of predestination, and whether indeed some men are 
born to reprobation, as Calvin holds and Pastor Robbins 
teaches. If it be so I, as one of the reprobate, am only 
damned the deeper by my efforts to intrude upon those 
good works reserved for the elect, and can be no worse 
off in another world by taking the ready way out of 
this, and if God indeed be such a God, I know not that 
I greatly care though I banish myself forever from his 
presence. 

“ Howbeit, I will not consume your time in polemical 
discussion, and will the more willingly leave it that 
since many days I feel some strange distemper in my 


228 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 

head, which confuses my intellect; indeed, what man 
can consider matters of depth while foul birds clap 
their wings incessantly within his brain, and the sound 
of many waters about to engulf him warns him to save 
himself, but yet without an ark ? One says Hasten, and 
I obey ; though as he is ever behind me I cannot tell 
who he may be, yet I obey. 

“ I have striven to live, I have been willing to labor, I 
have toiled night and day, and have prayed — yes, 
prayed, doubtless to mine own condemnation, being, as 
I have said, reprobate and lost ; but the little children 
and their mother are of the elect : that, even this one 
dares not deny — and does not. 

“ My money is all spent, my debts are pressing, the 
day of hope is past, and I can work no more, for the 
birds who blind mine eyes and confuse my brain with 
the whirring of their wings. I must die, there is no 
possibility left of life ; yet, while I hold it, life is all I 
have, my sole possession — it is mine own, and I have 
the right to mine own. 

“ Now, then, I will, I will think — you shall not come 
between me and the page again — stand there behind 
and wait — I will explain myself before I heed your 
call, I will justify myself to this man, with the quiet 
keen eyes, who has sometimes looked at me as though 
he saw the birds, or — there, there ! 

“ I have a right to my own life, and I am going to take 
it. I hold myself responsible for the lives of these 
children, and I will not abandon them to starvation and 
the cruel, cruel world that has driven me out of its doors. 
I shall take them with me, the poor little ones, my brave 
boy, my pretty little maids ; yes they shall come with 
their dad, who never spoke a word awry to any of 


THE LETTER. 


229 


them, but while I thought of it all last night, I determined 
that Acsah should have her baby, lest she be too deso- 
late — no, I have no right to Acsah’s life : I did not give 
it, I am not responsible for it, I will not decide *for her ; 
perhaps she will see it right to follow by the same road, 
and I will leave her the baby lest she should feel too 
desolate ; the little nursing baby will comfort her ; so 
this morning I have prepared, oh, so wisely, so carefully, 
so gently, yes, the one behind the chair arranged it all, 
and put it in between the birds into my head, yes, I 
sent the man to the mill, and ordered him to wait until 
all his corn was ground, and that ’s all day at Jenney’s 
mill, and I told Acsah I saw she was tired and heavy- 
hearted, and she should go to spend the day with her aunt 
and take her baby to see its grandam, as she calls herself, 
and when she fain would tarry with me, rather than 
have any other company, I put on a stern air and said 
I chose to have it so, and she, poor woman, threw her 
arms around me and cried, — no, no, I had better forget 
all that — yes, she went, and left all sorts of charges 
with the maid what she was to do for my comfort, and 
bade the children be good and not worry poor dad, who 
was very tired, yes, I heard her, I heard her from be- 
hind the door where I hid to look my last on her, but 
at length she went, and no sooner had the sound of the 
horse’s feet died away than I called the maid and said 
I had changed my mind, and should take the children 
and go away, and she might have the day with her own 
people ; it made me laugh all inside my head, to think 
how I told her no lie, for indeed I would go away and 
take the children, no lie, no, for I am an honorable man, 
yes, and a good father, but she went with wonder in 
her eyes, still she went, and now all is ready, I have the 


230 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


curious knife the Italian sailor sold me long ago, oh in 
some other life which I have all but forgotten, and I 
have made it very sharp — what — what noise is that ? ” 
The manuscript broke off abruptly with a blot, as if 
the pen had fallen on the paper, and began again as 
abruptly. • 

“ She has come back, Acsah and the baby come back, 
come back — she says she was all but at home when 
something, she knew not what, came over her and forced 
her to turn back — she cried, poor Acsah, and said she 
came because she must come, she had no choice but 
come, and then she cried again, and asked why did I 
look so strange, and why had I put the children in their 
night gear when it was hardly afternoon, and then came 
the storm, and in the wind came voices. I knew one of 
them right well, for it is whispering, whispering always 
at my back, wait, wait now until I can finish, I must 
write to my friend the doctor with the quiet eyes for he 
will understand, he will see that when she was forced to 
come back, and that not by birds, or by It, for she is a 
good woman, and one of God’s elect, it shows that God 
will have her go with me — no doubt her tender heart 
would break in the horror of it, her little Molly, and 
stout Neddie, and grave pretty Dorcas, yes, she could not 
let them go and stay behind, and she must go too, and if 
there is sin in it as by moments I guess, it is better to be 
on me the reprobate, than her the elect, and so perhaps 
damn her to my abode, — no, she shall die as guiltless 
as the baby at her breast, and I will take her first, that 
she may not see the little ones die — I will contrive it all 
so gently, so gently and tenderly, for I am a good hus- 
band and a good father, and would be a good man had I 
been born so that I could be, and yet predestination 


THE LETTER. 


231 


argues that those predestined to be damned can do 
neither good nor harm, for they have no free will — 
there there there, flap your wings and whiz and buzz 
and whisper all you will, I won’t be hurried, I won’t 
give way and frighten her — no, no, whatever comes I 
will be as gentle and as tender — oh, Acsah darling, 
indeed and indeed it is for the best or you would not 
have come back, well, well I will not delay, let me but 
sign my name, for I never yet did work I was ashamed 
to set my name to, I am an honest man and an honor- 
able. 

Ichabod English.” 

And never had the unhappy man signed his name 
more boldly or more firmly than in this last moment 
of his piteous clinging to some semblance of reason. 

How the end came none may know, and yet one feels 
that the habit and the instinct of gentleness and tender- 
ness so constantly claimed did not desert him at the last, 
and that the tragedy was completed without terror to 
the victims. Possibly Acsah may have been put to 
sleep, since opium was found in the house, and it was 
suspected that English was a victim to its abuse. That 
quiet face looked like one who had died in sleep, but only 
God and the spirits of good and evil know more than is 
here set down. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS’ LETTER HOME. 

u Good-morning, monsieur le Cur6 ! ” 

“ Good-morning, monsieur le Docteur ! ” 

And their mild little quotidian jest exchanged, the 
two men laughed in the idle, friendly fashion of men 
who meet too often to have anything very startling to 
say at any one time. 

“ Are you ready to set out for Oberry ? ” pursued the 
doctor. 

“ All ready. Eleven o’clock was the hour for the 
marriage, I believe.” 

“Yes, and the feast at noon. My girls, Pris and 
Margot, are going up in the wagon under convoy of 
Quasho.” 

“ Ah, yes. Margaret is fond of these little French 
maids, I believe.” 

“ Yes, she inherits a marvelous aptitude for my 
father’s language, and enjoys the opportunity of speak- 
ing it. Here is the chaise ; will you step in first, Par- 
son ? ” 

“ I ’m obliged to you, sir.” 

And Mr. Robbins, with a ceremonious bow, stepped 
past the doctor and seated himself in the chaise. A 
handsome man, in the early maturity of life, with a re- 
fined and aristocratic face, eloquent dark eyes, and a 
mouth that suggested some possible tendency toward 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS > LETTER HOME. 233 


the savory flesh-pots of Egypt ; just enough, perhaps, to 
give ground for those victories of the spirit over the 
flesh by which the saints are perfected. A genial man 
in private life, a courteous gentleman, a scholar won- 
derful for his time, and an honor to his Alma Mater of 
Yale ; so tender a husband that his wife mourned her- 
self to death in a few months after his decease, and a 
father greatly beloved both by his natural and his spir- 
itual children, Chandler Robbins had lived like many 
another good man to serene old age, and been like them 
forgotten of a world careless of those in whom it can 
find no fault, but for a dark shadow, which, falling 
athwart his life like a bend sinister across an azure 
shield, makes more vivid the heavenly tint, and yet de- 
tracts from its completeness. It was the shadow of 
John Calvin, that spiritual ogre who stood between so 
many souls and God’s sunshine, and preached the wrath 
and vengeance of a monstrous and impossible Deity upon 
those who, innocent of any voluntary disobedience, were 
to be damned, with no place of repentance, to eternal 
torments “ whose smoke ascends forever and ever, a 
grateful incense to the nostrils of the Almighty ; ” for 
such was the enthusiastic gloss passed upon Calvin’s 
doctrine by his disciple Hopkins, whose severities Pastor 
Robbins admired and assumed to himself, and such was 
the teaching that, meeting his temporal misfortunes in 
the mind of Ichabod English, overthrew its poise and 
drove him to his awful deed. 

But to-day the pastor goes to marry pretty Alix 
Bergeron to her faithful lover, Jean Daudin, who has 
made a voyage or two since the day Philip de Montar- 
naud slipped a gold piece into the bride’s hand with 
u Pour ton trousseau, ma petite,” and now a little cottage 


234 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


is ready, and plenished with such household gear as 
was rescued in that sad wreck of the home at Grand 
Pr6, or wrought since by the wheels and loom of the 
busy family ; and to-day is St. Martin’s Day again, and 
fair and sweet as was that other St. Martin’s Day, and 
the wagon, with Priscilla and Margaret LeBaron and 
little Jennie Robbins, their pet and plaything, bowls 
merrily along, driven by Quasho, who entertains his 
young ladies with story, jest, and song to the best of 
his wonderful ability. 

A little in advance nods and sways the chaise, con- 
taining the two fathers, and the doctor is saying : — 

“We had letters from Elizabeth last night by the 
hand of some gentleman traveling from Norfolk to 
Boston, who was so obliging as to hand them to the 
master of the packet. Have you heard from your 
brother lately ? ” 

“ No. I suppose, what with his duties to his parish 
and his household and his studies he finds but little time 
for correspondence. He wrote me of the birth of the 
child.” 

“ Yes, Elizabeth is very cock-a-hoop over her new 
honors. Stay, here is her letter to Pris, who handed it 
to me just as I left the house. Will you read it out 
for our mutual benefit ? ” 

“ If it is no breach of confidence.” 

“ Oh, no ; Pris said ’t was ‘ the minister’s wife ’ that 
wrote.” 

“ And I am glad my sister-in-law feels within her- 
self the obligations of a minister’s wife,” said Mr. Rob- 
bins, rather severely ; but as the doctor only smiled in 
reply, he unfolded the little sheet of coarse English 
paper, and read : — 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS ’ LETTER HOME. 235 


Norfolk, September 11th. 

Very D r Sister. It feems very malloncolly to me 
Sometimes When I think of our Situation tow loveing 
Sifters as we are Separated at Such a great diftance from 
each other. I was in Some hopes of your comeing up 
this fall to tarry thro the Winter but dont know but it 
wou d be two hard for D r Father. I want exceedingly to 
See you all efpecially Father Shou d have gone down this 
fall had it not been that I have a nursing Baby but 
hope two next Spring — I feel much Concerned about 
yow D r Priffe for we have no mother tho a tender 
father hope you mind his pious Inftruction o my D r 
Sister let me recomend to you Early Piety above every- 
thing as the Onely Sure foundation of comfort in this 
life and the Onely foundation of hope When We come 
to die don’t let the Vanities of this empty World take 
up all your Heart remember that going alone before 
god and fpreading out the heart there has been of happy 
effect to Some — we are all well Ammi is a little Fat 
hansome Boy Sister Sally has been here about 2 months 
is now going home With her Brother — Mr Robbins 
wou d join in Love to all the family and to Brother and 
Sifter Robbins — I subscribe your 

mo ft tender affectionate Sifter, 

ELiz th Robbins. 

Regards to D r Betfy Fofter Molley and Nancy May- 
hew, Becca Fuller and other Friends. 

“ Yes, very pleasant, very satisfactory,” remarked 
the pastor, folding the letter and handing it back. 
“ Elizabeth seems a little homesick, but it is doubtless 
a consolation to be able to write so fluently and well. 
I do not myself see any evil in teaching the humanities 


236 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


to girls as well as boys. I fully intend my little Jennie 
there shall read and write and cipher as well as her 
brothers, and not be restricted to her sampler, catechism, 
and Bible as so many girls are.” 

“ You do not agree with old Father Cobb, then, who, 
when I asked him to join with some of us in hiring for 
our girls a teacher somewhat more advanced than Mis- 
tress Tabitha Plaskett and her compeers, replied to the 
effect that the world would have come to a pretty pass 
when wives and daughters should look over the shoul- 
ders of their husbands and fathers as they wrote, and 
offer to correct such errors in spelling as they might 
see fit to commit.” 

“ Ha ! I fancy spelling was a tender subject with 
gran’ sir Cobb,” laughed Robbins, “ and Mistress Ammi 
Ruhama Robbins could have set him right more than 
once.” 

“ Yes, she spells well enough,” replied the doctor, 
well pleased, “especially as there seems no hard and 
fast rule about the matter. Most persons vary their 
spelling of the same word according to their mood or 
fancy.” 

“ Even my friend the Rev. John Newton, rector of 
Olney, near London, with whom I have much spiritual 
delight in correspondence, will now and again indulge 
himself in certain vagaries of that sort, but the soul or 
animus of his epistles never falters or checks ; and after 
all it is the spirit that maketh alive, and the letter that 
killeth.” 

“ And yet, Parson, it seems to me as if it were well 
for us if we did not stick quite so close to the letter, but 
gave way more to the spirit at times. Poor Lyddy 
Cornish, for instance, in her mortal sickness cravingly 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS' LETTER HOME. 237 


desired to be admitted to the church, and to partake of 
the Last Supper of the Lord ; and because the poor soul 
was too feeble to leave her bed and personally appear in 
the church, she was refused, and died incommunicate. 
It was indeed the letter that killed there.” 

“I was willing,” exclaimed the pastor, much dis- 
turbed. “ I took down her Relation and Confession of 
Sin and read them to the church, and we restored her 
to charity ; but two of the deacons were very bitter in 
opposition to breaking the rule, and the gentler counsels 
were overborne. Still, her children, you know, were ad- 
mitted to baptism.” 

“ Yes, and under the Halfway Covenant they would 
have been so without question, since their parents were 
baptized.” 

“ Oh, that Halfway Covenant ! ” cried Robbins, bit- 
terly ; “ that notable contrivance of Satan to ensnare 
souls, and cry to them, Peace ! Peace ! where there is 
no peace ! It makes me quiver with terror to see per- 
sons sitting down at the Lord’s Table, and counting 
themselves of His elect, whose baptism lies under such 
grievous disability.” 

“ Parson Leonard admitted all to baptism whose 
parents were baptized, whether they were church mem- 
bers or not,” replied the doctor, gravely. “ He held that 
the two sacraments were so conjoined that one receiving 
baptism was already in the grace of communion, and 
her child had birthright to membership in the church, 
and to baptism as its first step.” 

“ I know he did, and I confess to you, brother, that I 
have had great searchings of heart as to how he shall ren- 
der account of his stewardship. It is a fearful, yes, an 
awful thing to be put in charge of the souls for whom 


238 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Christ died, and if the shepherd himself opens the door 
of the fold to the wolf ” — 

“ ‘ To his own Master he stand or falls,’ ” interrupted 
the doctor, with that tact which will not let a friend 
utter words which he might regret speaking. 

“ Yes, — ‘ to his own Master he stands or falls,’ ” 
dreamily repeated Robbins. “And so with you and 
me as well as with Nathaniel Leonard, ‘ It is a fearful 
thing to fall into the hands of the living God,’ and few, 
few indeed shall be saved.” 

“ Parson, what motive, think you, had God Almighty 
in the creation of man ? ” 

“ He created them for His own glory, as doubtless you 
learned in your catechism.” 

“ Yes, but is not He the fountain of all wisdom ? ” 

“Surely.” 

“ And of all love ? ” 

“ Doubtless.” 

“And power, since by it He combined the atoms 
already existent, and vivified them into His creature 
man ? ” 

“ Of course, but what ” — 

“ One moment, and you will see. Is it logical to say 
that the failure of His own work gives glory to God’s 
wisdom ? ” 

“ Rather to His justice.” 

“ Is then His justice incompatible with wisdom ? ” 

“ God forbid.” 

“ But you believe that under the conditions of their 
being most men are born but to be damned.” 

“ Under the conditions of their fall in Adam.” 

“But Calvin teaches, and since him Hopkins, that 
Adam was predestinate to fall, thus making God the 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS' LETTER HOME. 239 


Author of sin ; and so before the first man was made, the 
race created by God’s wisdom and love were predes- 
tinate by His power to damnation.” 

“ Except the elect.” 

“ Except the elect, and they chosen out, not for their 
virtues, not for their penitence, not for their faith or 
for their works, but by an arbitrary appointment of 
God.” 

“ Doctor LeBaron, you blaspheme ” — 

“ Indeed I do not, Mr. Robbins. * No man living 
holds his Maker in more reverence and love than I do ; 
but I cannot with you place John Calvin and his disciples 
next to God in my allegiance, and if you will take it from 
a man old enough to be your father, I think you would be 
a happier, yes, and a more useful man if you did not do 
so, either.” 

“ You are indeed an older man, Doctor, and we have 
taken sweet counsel together, and walked in the house 
of God as friends, and yet I must believe you to be in 
grievous error. In my belief John Calvin was a prophet 
commissioned by God to declare his truth, and the Five 
Points as set forth by him are to me of equal impor- 
tance with any precept of the New Testament.” 

“ The Five Points ! Do they marry well with the Ser- 
mon on the Mount ? ” 

“ They do in the Mind of God, although your mind 
may not have grasp enough for more than one aspect of 
the question.” 

“H’m. Election, including of course reprobation, 
means that from all eternity some souls are predesti- 
nate to salvation for no merit of their own, and some to 
damnation for no fault of their own. Redemption, that 
is the saving of the souls of the elect through the Atone- 


240 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


ment of Christ ; but this saving grace, saddled with Par- 
ticular Redemption, meaning that Christ died only for 
the elect, and His death is of no efficacy to the non- 
elect. Then the Bondage of the Will, so that the non- 
elect have no power of repentance, or of turning to God, 
or of conviction of sin leading to confession and pardon.” 

“ Esau found no place of repentance, though he 
sought it bitterly with tears.” 

“ I know, but Holy Writ saith not that he found none 
beyond the grave. But the fourth point — Irresistible 
Grace, meaning that the elect cannot resist conversion, 
even if they would — is, to be sure, a comfortable doctrine 
for the elect, but of a nature to paralyze the exertions 
of one who feels assured that no efforts of his own can 
merit this grace, and no sins can be so displeasing to 
God as to prevent it in the soul of the elect. And then, as 
if to clench this, comes Final Perseverance, the gift 
whereby the elect become impeccable and incapable of 
falling from grace ; and furthermore, this gift being with- 
held from the non-elect, they have no power of retain- 
ing any good they may receive from holy teaching or 
from holy baptism, so that though they may seem to live a 
good and Christian life in this world, all merit is buried 
with them in the grave, and they are judged even more 
severely at the last for having as it were cheated them- 
selves and their fellows here below by a simulacrum of 
sanctity. Now, Parson, do you call this exposition of 
the Councils of God, — Almighty God, who so loved the 
world that He gave His only begotten Son to die for its 
redemption, — do you call it as consistent with Christ’s 
showing of the Father as is the Sermon on the Mount, 
or the last discourse, as given by John the Beloved 
Disciple ? ” 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS > LETTER HOME. 241 


A long silence ensued, broken only by the sweet non- 
sense of the little birds telling each other that summer 
had come back and it was almost time for nesting, and 
the joyous voices with laughter borne on the still air 
from the merry party in the wagon. At last the parson 
said : — 

“ It is easy enough for the carnal mind to become 
entangled in these subtleties of reason, or rather of false 
doctrine, and it is thought that Satan was of the cheru- 
bim, those blessed spirits who derive wisdom from the 
Almighty as their especial gift, so it is not to be doubted 
that he can even now plague men’s minds with what ap- 
pear to be sound arguments against the faith, while all 
the time they are mere delusions of the enemy.” 

“ Why not turn round that weapon, and try its point 
upon the Five Points ? To my mind ’t will prove the 
sharpest,” suggested the doctor ; but his companion 
flushed as a man does when he is insulted. 

“ And still you are a deacon of the church, Dr. Le- 
Baron,” said he, severely. 

“ A deacon of the Church of Christ, but not of the 
Church of Calvin, any more than that of Knox or of 
Luther, — nay, nor of Rome,” returned the doctor, with 
animation. “ Since the Separatists cut adrift from the 
old ecclesiastical system, every man is free within cer- 
tain limits to judge for himself ; that is one of the es- 
sential consequences of separation, and you know as 
well as I what the almost imperceptible divergence at 
their source of two straight lines leads to in the end. 
I claim to be a thoroughly sound Christian and church 
member, however unworthy as an individual soul ; but 
I differ from the belief of John Calvin, and in many 
points I. differ from you, and I know men in this town 


242 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


who differ from all of us, yet what is to be said? We 
have the open Bible, we have private judgment, we 
have liberty of conscience, (although you say no liberty 
of will), and we are free to diverge, each one as con- 
science guides him. I tell you, Parson, the world does 
not stand still one instant, and this movement begun 
some two hundred years since in England will go on, 
until Christians who could not endure the tyranny of 
King, or rather Bishop Stork, will run riot under some 
yet unborn King Log unable even to defend himself.” 

“ I know that the leaven of discontent and rebellion 
is working in this town,” said the minister, bitterly. 

“ And not only in matters ecclesiastical,” replied the 
doctor, in a lighter tone. “ Our good mother of Eng- 
land will have to change her policy right speedily, or 
she will find that her big boy over here is too stalwart 
to be laid across her knee any longer. He begins to 
demand respect and consideration even from his par- 
ents.” 

“ One would suppose that the Colonies’ emphatic re- 
jection of the Stamp Act would have sufficed as a hint 
to the old mother,” said Bobbins, entering with an air 
of relief upon the new topic. 

“ The English mind is not very quick at imbibing 
new ideas, or in perceiving when it is best to abandon 
old ones,” and a little French smile crept across the 
doctor’s thin lips. 

“Well, we are as English as they,” replied the par- 
son, promptly. “ And in the course of a century and 
a half have got the idea of liberty so thoroughly worked 
into our heads that I doubt if all King George’s armies 
would suffice to knock it out.” 

“ State and Church are indeed divided here, are they 


ELIZABETH ROBBINS’ LETTER HOME. 243 


not ? ” remarked the doctor quietly. “ You, a man of 
peace, are all but ready to grasp the carnal weapon in 
defense of political liberty, but you call in John Calvin, 
with gyves and fetters and small cords, and beg him to 
bind you fast and sure in such slavery of the soul as the 
Pope never dreamed of enforcing. But there, I have 
done. Here we are at Bbrgeron’s ; and see how they 
have trimmed even the outside of the house with gar- 
lands and greenery.” 

“ A trifle too much for my taste. It savors of Merry 
Mount and its maypole.” 

“ Chut, chut, Parson ! Claim a little liberty of soul, 
and rejoice with them that do rejoice, as your Bible 
bids you. Remember the Guest at Cana.” 

So Parson Robbins married Jean Daudin and Alix 
Bergeron, in phrases of such pure French that neither 
of them knew what he was saying ; but the next Sunday 
he preached a sermon of such severity, that it was long 
and regretfully remembered by the more liberal part of 
his congregation, especially his statement that he con- 
sidered the Five Points of Calvinism of equal weight 
with any part of the New Testament. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


SUCCATACH. 

Consider Howland slept with his fathers on Bury- 
ing Hill, and Ruth Bryant, his loving wife, had meekly 
followed him thither. You may see their stones to-day, 
in the shadow of that majestic though mistaken monu- 
ment to the memory of John Howland the Pilgrim, 
who married Elizabeth Tilley, and not Elizabeth, 
daughter of childless Governor Carver. There too 
may you see a plaintive little stone to the memory of 

Consider son to Mr. Consider 
and Mrs. Ruth Howland, 

Aged 7 years. 

and also another, of which we will speak by and by. 
But besides those who lay with them on the Hill, Con- 
sider and Ruth had several children, who remained in 
the houses at its foot, and principal among these was 
Thomas Southworth Howland, named for his grand- 
father Thomas, son of that sweet widow Alice South- 
worth, who with her two boys crossed the seas to marry 
her first love, Governor William Bradford. 

But although Tom, as his father called him on occa- 
sion of that notable betrothal of Tom’s sister Lucy to 
Captain Hammatt, sometimes got his whole name, his 
townsmen, who were for the most part his kinsmen as 


sue C AT AC H. 


245 


well, were generally content to call him S’uth’ard, and 
sometimes Tom S’uth’ard, following a fashion still prev- 
alent in Plymouth, of distinguishing different claim- 
ants of one family name by the middle name, so that 
nothing can be more bewildering to a visitor of to-day 
than to try to make out why she must n’t gossip about 
A B to Y Z, until some one exclaims : “ Don’t you 
know that they are sisters ? They are both daughters 
of Mr. X.” 

“ Then why are n’t they both called Miss X ? ” asks 
the aggrieved gossip. 

“ Oh, there are three A 'Xes in town, and we always 
speak of them by their middle names,” is the reply, and 
the stranger sighs : “ Oh, carry me back to Kalamazoo, 
where nobody is related to anybody, and nobody has any 
ancestors.” 

But to return to our sheep. S’uth’ard Howland, 
some years before his father’s death, had taken to wife 
Abiah, daughter of Squire Hovey, so called because he 
was a lawyer. They lived in a house between Judge 
Lothrop’s and that built by Doctor Francis LeBaron, 
and as neither Abiah nor S’uth’ard could look out of 
window without seeing the home of the other, the match 
may have been one of propinquity, for Abiah was not 
nearly so pretty as several other Plymouth maids, of 
her age ; not pretty at all, in fact, but, what is better, 
she was very good, and when her husband’s parents died 
it was she who mothered the two little orphan girls, Ex- 
perience, commonly called Peddie, and Hannah, who in 
her sweet flower of beauty divided with Priscilla Le- 
Baron the meed of “ fairest.” 

Like his father, S’uth’ard, with his wife’s efficient aid, 
kept a sort of amateur hostelry in the house built by 
Consider, during his later years, on North Street, next 


246 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


below the corner where we found him living in the old 
home of his father Thomas. And here we may assist 
at a little family council held beside a roaring hickory 
fire, pleasantly illuminating Mrs. Howland’s own sit- 
ting-room, and dispelling the chill and darkness of a 
December twilight. 

At one corner of the fireplace sat the mistress, spin- 
ning fine flax upon the wheel once used by Joanna 
Cole, mother of Consider, who had bequeathed not 
only this wheel and both houses and land upon Cole’s 
Hill, to her descendants, but also her good old English 
name, a favorite in the family to this day, although 
sometimes contracted to Joan. 

At the other corner, upon the high-backed settle, shield- 
ing them from the wind creeping in at door and win- 
dow, cuddled Peddie, Hannah, and Priscilla LeBaron, 
warming their toes after a run in the snow, and whis- 
pering secrets of state in each other’s ears, with much 
giggling and smothered exclamations and expostula- 
tions. 

A big brown dog lay across the hearth, keeping an 
eye upon Priscilla, whom he had escorted hither, and 
intended to escort home in good time for tea, or rather 
supper, as both he and she called it. 

Much stamping upon the doorstep, a robust entrance 
with a slam of the front door and throwing open of 
that of the sitting-room, and S’uth’ard Howland entered 
in his usual breezy and somewhat aggressive fashion. 

“ See here, Abbie ! I ’ve got something to show you 
and to tell you. You kittens clear yourselves off to the 
kitchen, and plague old Rose’s life out. Priscilla’s lad 
is waiting out there — scat ! ” 

“ I don’t believe it is a good plan to speak that way 


SUCCATACH. 


247 


to a girl as young as Pris, S’uth’ard,” expostulated 
Abiah, as the door closed behind the three little maids 
and their sweet ripples of laughter. 

“ Don’t you believe it, Abbie ! Girls nowadays are 
n’t what they were while you and I were the age of 
these. But see here, you ’ve heard of the Old Colony 
Club ? ” 

“ Why, yes ; have they asked you to join it ? ” 

“ Not they, — they ’re too fine, though Edward Wins- 
low ’s my own cousin, and Pelham my second, and the 
others are kith if not kin. But what I ’m coming at is, 
they are going to celebrate Forefathers’ Day, the 22d 
of December, you know, and they want we should get 
them up a dinner in the old Forefathers’ fashion. They 
want to come to us, because they know as well as I do 
that when they talk of the Forefathers there is n’t a 
man-jack among them that can claim a Mayflower 
name as I can, except the Winslows ; and though I may 
be have n’t spent so much time over my books, and 
don’t always wear my cambric ruffles, and talk like a 
French dancing-master, as some of them do, I ’m old 
John Howland’s grandson, and they know it, too.” 

“ What shall we have for dinner ? ” asked Abiah’s 
gentle voice, and her husband, quieting down from the 
fume into which he was very apt to talk himself, stared 
at her a moment, then, pulling a paper from his pocket, 
sat down beside her, and smoothing it upon his knee 
began studying it by the firelight, while he said : — 

“ Oh, that ’s all made out. I was just passing their 
hall up there in Town Square, when some one thumped 
on the window fit to break the glass, and then Tom 
Lothrop came pelting down the stair, and begged me 
civilly enough to come up and help them ; and among 


248 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


us we drew out this ticket, — bill of fare they call it, — 
and I took a copy and promised we ’d get it up ; and 
they asked me to come to the hall and spend the even- 
ing, and I said I would, as why should n’t I ? ” 

“ You should surely, if you like it, and are asked,” re- 
plied Abiah, quietly. 

“ And Doctor LeBaron has given the club Governor 
Bradford’s own chair, that came to him with his second 
wife, and Isaac Lothrop, the chairman, is to sit in it. 
If I ’d belonged to the club, may be I should have given 
our old John Howland table to go with Bradford’s 
chair.” 

“ But the bill of fare, husband ; won’t you read it out 
to me ? ” 

“ Why, it ’s what I brought it home for, woman ! 
Only you talk so much. Here it is now, in nine 
courses : — 

“ 1. A large baked Indian whortleberry pudding. 

“ 2. A dish of 4 sauquetach ’ as they spell it, but I guess 
corn and beans and pork and chicken spell succatach 
any day in the year ; well — 

“ 3. A dish of boiled clams. 

“ 4. A dish of oysters and a dish of codfish. 

“5. A haunch of venison roast by the first jack brought 
to the Colony, — I forget whose it is, but no matter. 

“ 6. A dish of sea-fowl. 

“ 7. A dish of frostfish and eels. 

“ 8. An apple pie. 

“ 9. A course of cranberry tarts and cheese made in 
the Old Colony. 

“ There, Abbie, that ’s a regular old Forefathers’ din- 
ner, is n’t it ? Oh, and Isaac Lothrop says we must 
have five grains of parched corn beside each plate, be- 


SUCCATACH. 249 

cause in the old times there was a famine, and five grains 
of corn was the allowance for every soul for a day.” 

“ It is a marvel if they throve upon such low diet,” 
remarked Abiah, calmly ; “ but it is a dinner easily to be 
cooked, husband, and I will do my best to have every- 
thing as it should be.” 

“And good is your best, wife. The moil of it is 
they want to be so fine and Frenchified that they ’ve set 
their dinner for half past two o’clock. I told them I 
did n’t know as our kitchen chimbley would carry smoke 
at that hour of the day, seeing it had never been tried.” 

“ I guess it will, S’uth’ard.” 

“ ’T would n’t put you out any if it did n’t,” replied 
S’uth’ard, half annoyed and half admiring. “ Were 
you ever out of sorts in your life, Ab ? I never saw 
you so.” 

“ It ’s best that one of us should be pretty quiet,” 
said Ab, with a smile so significant that S’uth’ard’s sten- 
torian laugh reached the merry maids in the kitchen, and 
made them laugh for sympathy. 

So thus began the revels of the Old Colony Club, 
whose annals are one of the most charming mines of 
Old Colony lore remaining for a later generation. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE LAST OF THE RINGS. 

It was spring, and upon the chill air of melting snow 
and icebergs floating off the coast, and the discontented 
east winds, stole the breath of the epigsea, pushing its 
rose-tinted and spice-laden clusters of blossom up through 
tangles of wintergreen and beds of sodden brown leaves, 
and beside gnarled stumps of trees dead, once and for 
all, while she, the darling of the Pilgrims, who called 
her Mayflower, lived on from year to year, ever renewed 
in boundless continuity of life. Yes, the epigsea was in 
bloom, and Priscilla LeBaron and Hannah Howland, in 
pursuance of a deep plot laid the day before, had risen 
early and crept forth from their respective homes with 
the secrecy of conspirators, to go and gather the earliest 
clusters before Abraham Hammatt or Joshua Thomas 
should be before them ; for in those days, a custom akin 
to that of St. Valentine’s Day with its gloves obtained in 
Plymouth, and the young man who wished to stand es- 
pecially well with some young lady suggested his prefer- 
ence and obtained a certain claim upon her indulgence 
by presenting her with the earliest Mayflowers she had 
seen. Naturally, that spirit of coquetry occasionally to 
be met even among the maidens of Plymouth inspired 
those who expected this offering to make every exertion 
to forestall it, and when Strephon called with his little 
offering Chloe loved to point to a similar one at her 
elbow, and say : — 


THE LAST OF THE RINGS. 251 

" Oh, I ’m sorry you took the trouble, but you see I 
have some already.” 

So Pris and Nanny, as they called each other, crept 
out of bed and out of the house as early as the sun, 
and each with a good bit of bread in her pocket, and 
Billington Sea waiting for them to drink, gayly took the 
road in that direction, much delighted at their own 
courage and finesse. 

The bread was eaten, a certain portion of the sea was 
quaffed, and the two pretty maids were growing a little 
tired, but still the baskets were not filled, for the epi- 
gsea, although abundant, was not fully bloomed ; and in 
those days one scorned to gather the little hard buds 
now sold at every city street corner, and bearing the 
same resemblance to matured Mayflowers that a tiger 
cub born in a cage does to the king of the jungles. 

“There’ll be more over toward South Pond,” ex- 
claimed Nanny at last ; “ but I ’m so tired, are n’t you, 
Pris?” 

“ Tired ? Yes, I suppose so, but I ’ll have a bunch of 
Mayflowers to show Abe to-night if I perish in the at- 
tempt.” 

“ Oh, well, in that case we ’ll go on,” and Nanny, who 
was of a more fragile mould and constitution than her 
friend, straightened her back, and desperately breasted 
the steep hill lying just beyond Little Billington. 

“I ’ll tell you, Nan; since you’re so tired, I’ll go 
alone straight on toward that dead oak where we made 
a fire last fall ; don’t you remember ? ” 

“ Yes, you can almost see it from here.” 

“ Well, I ’ll go as far as there, and if I find May- 
flowers I ’ll hail you to come ; but if not, we ’ll make it 
do with what we can find between this and home. You 
sit down here and wait.” 


252 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ I ’ll just poke round a little here in the bushes first ; 
mayhap 1 11 chance on some we have n’t seen yet.” 

“ As you will, only don’t stray away.” And Priscilla, 
light and tireless as a bird, was out of sight in a moment. 
Hannah, more tired than she confessed, sat still for a 
little while, listening to the innumerable sounds of life 
that make the awakening forest eloquent, from the faint 
rustle one sometimes catches as the fronds of a fern un- 
fold, or a bee brushes in and out of a pale, sweet spring 
blossom, to the liquid song of the bluebird and the 
querulous note of the robin, who open the concert soon 
to be swelled by the golden shower of the bobolink’s 
aerial song and the glory of the oriole. 

The call of an early thrush from the swampy valley 
behind her attracted Nan’s attention, and with its subtle 
note of invitation seemed to call her to his side. Al- 
most involuntarily the girl obeyed, and with a smile 
upon her lips began descending the slippery hillside, 
saying half aloud : — 

“You want to show me where the Mayflowers are, 
don’t you, birdie ? ” 

And to be sure, just at the foot of the hill a cloud of 
rosy color showed a patch of blossoms whose delicate 
perfume already rose to welcome her. Poising herself 
upon an exposed tree root, Nan essayed to spring across 
a little gully dividing her from the tussock where these 
grew, but in the act was startled by the cautious move- 
ment of some large creature in the thicket behind her. 
A tradition of wolves, a certainty of Indians, danger- 
ous if intoxicated, a panic such as lies in # wait for femi- 
nine perils, rushed across Hannah’s mind, and with a 
little piteous cry she jumped short of her mark, and fell, 
one foot deep in the boghole, the other crumpled under 


THE LAST OF THE RINGS. 253 

her, her hands clutching all unconsciously at the May- 
flowers amid which she had fallen. 

An exclamation in a deeper tone blended with her 
own, and out from the thicket leaped, not a wolf nor an 
Indian, but a tall, dark, and very handsome young man, 
who, striding across the boggy ground, reached the tus- 
sock almost as soon as Hannah, and without much cere- 
mony raised her and placed her upon her feet, saying, 
“ I hope you will forgive me, Miss Howland, but ” — 
“ Oh ! my foot ! ” and Hannah, clutching at the 
young man’s arm as the only available means of support, 
turned so ghastly white that in very charity he put an 
arm around her waist and helped her to sit down upon 
the hillock and lean upon his shoulder. 

“ My ankle is sprained, — perhaps broken. I can’t 
stand at all,” whispered the girl. “ Call Pris — call 
Miss LeBaron as loud as you can ! ” 

“ She ’s coming ! She had turned back just as you 
fell — this way ! Here ! Miss LeBaron, this way ! ” 
And Priscilla cautiously approaching the edge of the 
boggy basin, stood speechless before the sight of her 
friend fainting in the arms of a young man, totally un- 
known to either of them. 

“ What has happened ? What is it ? ” demanded she, 
in that sort of indignation with which many natures meet 
the incomprehensible. 

“ I ’ve sprained my ankle, Pris,” moaned Hannah, 
keeping back a sob. 

“Poor Nan! And who is, — who — excuse me sir, 
but how came you here, if I might ask ? ” 

“ I came to gather Mayflowers,” replied the stranger, 
with a half smile, “ and happened to be at hand when 
Miss Howland fell. The question now is of taking her 
home, and first of getting up yonder bank.” 


254 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Can’t you walk at all, dear ? ” asked Priscilla, a 
little sharply, for it hurt her own maidenliness to see her 
friend lie upon this stranger’s breast so helplessly and 
unresistingly. 

A ‘no,’ so faint and chill that it failed to reach the ears 
of the listener, formed itself upon the sufferer’s white 
lips, and the stranger indignantly echoed it. 

“ No ! If she could stand she would not allow — I 
will bring her up the bank, if you will kindly hold the 
bushes aside.” 

And as Priscilla, abashed she knew not why, obeyed, 
the young man added in a lower tone, “ You will par- 
don what would be a strange familiarity, were you not 
helpless.” And raising Hannah’s slight form firmly 
and tenderly in his arms, he strode across the bogholes, 
landed safely upon the firm ground, struggled up the 
hill, and finally seated the poor girl on the same log 
where not fifteen minutes before she had rested so 
placidly and well. 

“ Now if you will sit beside her, I will hasten to the 
village for help,” said the young man, glancing anxiously 
at the sufferer, who hardly seemed conscious. 

“ I can go quicker, I know just where to go and who 
to call, and — and it would make talk for a stranger to 
go about the town with such a tale,” said Priscilla, color- 
ing brightly as the idea of all the probable gossip came 
into her mind. 

“ Yes, you go, Pris, and let Quasho come and take me 
to your house quietly,” murmured Hannah, and Pris- 
cilla, casting a severe and comprehensive glance at the 
stranger, replied, — 

“ I suppose, sir, you will stay — she does not need 
any help. You might be picking your Mayflowers, only 
stay within call.” 


THE LAST OF THE RINGS. 


255 


“ I am not a rascal, Miss LeBaron.” 

“ No, but you are a stranger,” replied Priscilla, 
naively voicing the sentiment of her native place ; and 
then with a whispered word or two to Hannah, and an 
uneasy glance at her attendant, she ran away through 
the wood as fleet as one of the wild creatures which fled 
before her, and as light as the birds who gravely ques- 
tioned from tree to tree as to what these droll mortals 
might be doing now. 

Some moments of profound silence ensued, broken by 
Hannah, who said with a sorry attempt at calmness : — 

“ You are a stranger here, are you not ? ” 

“ I am a sailor on board Captain Samson’s brig, the 
Lydia,” replied the young man in a constrained voice. 
Hannah looked at him again. “ Captain Samson was 
at our house last night, and said that all his men were 
townsmen, but I don’t think I ever saw you. May I 
ask your name ? ” 

“ They call me Jack.” 

“ But your family name ? ” 

“We poor sailors don’t have family names, but 1 
know yours, Miss Howland.” 

“ You do ! How ? ” 

“ I have often seen you in Plymouth. It is n’t likely 
you would notice me. If you will not think it a liberty, 
I will tell you why I was in the woods this morning.” 

“ To gather a posy for some young lady, I suppose,” 
said Hannah, a little startled, yet interested. 

“ Yes, I will show you.” And diving down into the 
little dell, the sailor presently returned carrying a bas- 
ket filled with the odorous pink flowers glistening with 
dew. 

“ Oh, what beauties, — finer than any we found ! ” 


256 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ Yes, it made me feel bad to see you picking what 1 
had n’t thought good enough to offer you.” 

“ Oh, — me — you mean ” — 

“ They were for you. I sent you some last year.” 

“ Those beauties ! They were from you ? ” 

“ Yes, — you ’re not offended ? ” 

“ N-o-o. But — who are you ? ” 

“ Let me throw out these poor things in your basket, 
and put in what I have picked. They are so much 
finer.” 

“ Yes, — if you picked them for me.” 

“Indeed I did, and wherever I sail all over the 
world, I mean to be back here in Plymouth to pick the 
first Mayflowers for you every year, until ” — 

“ Until when, Mi*. — Jack ? ” 

“ Until you are married.” 

“ Oh, that may never be.” 

The sailor made no reply, apparently absorbed in ex- 
changing the cod tents of the two baskets, and carefully 
preserving every sprig that Hannah had picked. 

“ I hear the wagon coming ! ” exclaimed Hannah, 
with an air of relief. 

“ Yes, and that is Captain Samson’s voice,” replied 
the sailor, — “I suppose they met him and asked his 
help.” 

“Well, — he won’t object to one of his men helping a 
poor crippled girl, will he ? ” 

“ No, Miss Howland, but ” — 

“ Hi ! Dere ’s Miss Hannah, now ! ” exclaimed 
Quasho’s voice ; and guiding his horse between the trees 
and over the bushes he presently appeared, with Cap- 
tain Samson on the seat beside him. 

“ Miss Prissy say she waiting for you at de house, 


THE LAST OF THE RINGS . 


257 


Miss Hannah, an’ Mas’ Cap’n here passin’ ’long jus’ den, 
an’ berry kin’ly offer he help fer tote Mis’ Hannah 
inter de waggin, an’ nobody else knew noffin ’bout it.” 

“ You here, Ring ! ” exclaimed the Captain, sternly. 

“ Yes , sir, I was lucky enough to be near when Miss 
Howland hurt herself, and stayed with her.” 

“ Ring ! ” echoed Hannah, faintly. 

“ Yes,” replied the sailor, bitterly. “ The only one 
left alive of Ansel Ring’s family that Mother Crewe 
cursed, and all the name I have is Jack. ’T is what I 
signed on the books, Captain.” 

“ Well, well, — it don’t matter to this young lady, and 
I have n’t told the men.” 

“ My service to you, Miss Howland,” and uncovering 
his handsome head, Ansel Ring picked up his basket of 
Mayflowers and disappeared in the wood. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 

“ It is not physic that you need, Parson, but a quiet 
mind.” 

And Doctor LeBaron drew his shaggy brows together, 
and gazed disapprovingly at his pastor, who, resting his 
fevered brow upon his hand, sat idly at the study table, 
laden with record books, manuscript sermons, letters, 
and papers. 

“ A quiet mind, — peace ! ” echoed he, wearily ; “ it 
awaits me in the grave, perchance, but not this side.” 

“ Ah ! That ’s a comfortable state of mind, for a man 
not yet in middle life. What will you say when 
you have doubled your years, and still not come to 
mine ? ” 

“ I never shall see that day, Doctor. Few and evil 
are the years allotted to me, and yet it may well be that 
they are but entry to worse, infinitely worse.” 

“ You ’re vexed over the Halfway Covenant, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ It is one symptom of the fatal sickness that has 
seized upon this church. At the last church meeting, 
where you did not present yourself ” — 

“ Having to superintend both a birth and a death in 
one afternoon.” 

“ Doubtless, doubtless ; but I laid before the people, 
with all the fervor I could command, the terrible danger 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 


259 


they incur by this practice. Deacon Bartlett replied 
that it was “ an old ancient practice,” and that it was not 
well to change such, but I bade him remember that the 
Church Records show it to be a practice introduced by 
my reverend predecessor, and even, then more by way 
of concession to human frailty than of ordinance, and 
I put it to him and all of them, that in these days 
of laxity and heresy, it was for Christ’s people to 
strengthen the bulwarks, and stand every man with his 
weapon in one hand and his mattock in the other, even 
as the Hebrews when they rebuilt the walls of Jeru- 
salem, harassed at every step by the sons of Belial.” 

“ H’m. You can’t stop the world turning round, 
Parson.” 

“ What ? Do you call heresy progress, Doctor Le- 
Baron ? ” 

“Nay. I do but state a scientific fact. And what 
about the music ? ” 

“ There again they withstand me. But I spent the 
time when others slept last night in entering all these 
matters in the parish Record. Here — read for your- 
self.” 

And with the feverish languor of an overwrought 
nervous system, the minister dragged a long leather- 
covered volume from under the manuscript of a half- 
written sermon thrown aside in disgust, and pushed it 
toward the doctor. 

“ There ! Read the two or three last pages, and see 
if the prescription for a quiet mind is writ down upon 
one of them by any chance.” 

“ Tit for tat is fair play,” replied the doctor, fum- 
bling in the pockets of his wide-skirted coat, “and 
here is a news-letter brought down from Boston, by the 


260 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


packet this morning. It contains stirring matter, and 
requiring more immediate action, on both your part 
and mine, than even the Halfway Covenant. There, 
lie back in your chair and put your feet on this, while 
you read.” 

“ I cannot suppose that temporal matters deserve 
such — ha ! ” 

And the parson, who had received the little coarse 
brown sheet rather scornfully, paused abruptly, and be- 
came so absorbed in its contents as not to perceive the 
little smile with which, and a pinch of snuff, the doctor 
applauded his own method of treatment. 

Then opening the record book, he turned the pages, 
reading bits here and there before coming to the last 
entry, as for instance, how Sister Esther Jackson asked 
privilege of baptism for an orphan infant adopted by 
her, but was refused because the child was without 
birthright. Afterward, however, upon her urgent insist- 
ence that the child had become as her own, it was 
allowed baptism on the. birthright of its adopted mother. 

Brother John May was requested, in 1764, “ to set the 
tune in concert, in order for the better, more regular, 
and decent carrying on of that more heavenly part of 
the worship of God, viz., singing in the house of God.” 

In 1770, the church split upon the question whether 
to exchange the Version of Psalms sung in meeting, 
either for Watts’s Hymns, or those of Tate and Brady, 
which had been upon trial for three years, and some 
thought it time to come to a determination. One 
church meeting, called to discuss this question, broke up 
because it was “ such an extreme cold day,” and no- 
body had ever yet dreamed of such luxury as heating 
the meeting-house ! 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 


261 


Another meeting was broken up by the intemperate 
language of some of the brethren, Deacon Foster assert- 
ing his belief that Dr. Watts composed his hymns under 
the direct inspiration of the devil. Finally, however, 
those who hated Watts “ condescended ” to Tate and 
Brady, which Mr. Bobbins himself preferred, and it 
was finally agreed to try the latter hymnal for six 
months longer without any psalms. But it was not until 
1777, that Jesse Churchill, Andrew Crosswell, Samuel 
Sherman, and William Bartlett were chosen to act as 
“Choristers in Publick Worship as Occasion requires,” 
thus proving that a male choir is a Congregational, and 
not a High Church practice ! 

Jane Tinker was warned that “ her conduct has been 
so contrary to y e Gospel, and caused such griefe and 
offence to several of y B Ch. that they cannot comfort- 
ably set down with her at y e holy ordinance of y e Lord’s 
Supper, & She be desired to refrain from Coming until 
she gives Christian Satisfaction, i. e. publick confession.” 

Whether Jane preferred the shame of this public 
confession to the unknown terrors of excommunication, 
was not registered ; but apropos of the matter, the pastor 
had set down a long discussion as to the propriety of 
these public confessions being entered upon the church 
records, some members contending that to hand down 
the sins with the name of an individual to an unlimited 
posterity, was quite too severe a punishment ; while Mr. 
Robbins, with certain others, held that the example of 
penitence was very efficacious to those still in sin but 
disposed to repent, and cited the Confessions of Saint 
Augustine and the story of Mary Magdalene as having 
been of great use to many. “ Falling into sin is shame, 
but confession is no shame, while it is great shame if 


262 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


one does not confess ; ” and finally the pastor cites the 
case of a woman who was well known in the town to 
have been a grievous sinner, but who became converted, 
and was “ propounded for Communion,” but it not be- 
ing known, because not recorded, that she had made 
publick Confession, caused great uneasiness to many, 
until by personal inquiry it was found that she had.” 
And “ Sister Lydia C. made publick Confession of in- 
temperate drinking and was restored to Communion.” 
Another minute mightily tickled the doctor’s sense of 
humor, as proving the wonderful liberality of a church 
which refused a dying woman’s plea for the sacrament 
and a helpless infant’s plea for baptism. “ 1770, Aug. 
12. Lord’s Day. The Ch. at the request of Mrs. Tren- 
holme, wife of Mr. William Trenholme, a regular mem- 
ber of the Church of England, who has lived in y 8 town 
nigh a 12 m0 . and is a person of sober life and conver- 
sation ; voted : That whereas Mrs. Trenholme was ad- 
mitted to occasional Communion with y 8 Church on y e 
Lord’s Day at y e Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, & 
now desires Baptism for her Infant child, that her Re- 
quest be granted, and that she be hereafter admitted to 
occasional Communion with us in Special Ordinances. 
Unanimous vote of assent. Memo. This vote was 
passed professedly with a view y 1 it may be seen by 
after Generations that this Ch. does not renounce, but 
is very willing to hold Communion with regular Mem- 
bers of y € Ch. of England.” 

“ But would the Church of England be very willing 
to hold communion with us ? ” asked LeBaron, half 
aloud. 

“ Eh ? what ? ” replied his companion, abstractedly ; 
and the doctor, merely waving his hand, turned another 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 


263 


leaf, willing that his patient should forget, in the news 
of the day, those questions that vexed his righteous soul 
overmuch, calling forth such a bitter cry as this. 

“ For though all freely charge themselves with being 
criminally negligent in Discipline of y e Church and 
care of y e children of y e Church, nobody will do any- 
thing now at this present. The Lord give us all a 
heart to repent and reform in y e Thing which I believe 
is one Awful Provoking Cause of y e melancholly with- 
drawal of y e Spirit and comforting Presence of Christ.” 

And after the record of a stormy dispute over the 
Halfway Covenant, he adds, “Oh that y e All-Wise 
and Infinitely Merciful Father of Lights would lead and 
direct y! Ch. in the way that is pleasing to Him, and 
the way of Truth, Peace, and Holiness for his dear 
Son’s sake.” 

Next, Dr. LeBaron with much interest read the ac- 
count of the Ordination of his own son Lemuel over 
a parish in Rochester, Mass., where Pastor Robbins 
preached, the Rev. Ivory Hovey of Manomet made 
the first prayer, and the Rev. Ammi Ruhama Robbins, 
brother-in-law of Lemuel, the last one. “The whole 
attended ^ great Decency & Solemnity; may God 
make y e Ordained a rich and lasting Blessing to his 
people, and a Pastor after His own Heart.” 

And finally came the latest record of those unhappy 
Church meetings to discuss and insist upon the Half- 
way Covenant and more liberal measures generally, 
whereat the spirit of opposition and schism so boldly 
reared its head as to wring from the pastor’s pen these 
words : — 

“ Oh y* God of his Infinite Mercy would Compassion- 
ate y 8 Chh. under its present divided State & graciously 


264 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


lead and Direct to such Measures & Conclusions as shall 
be most for His Glory & y e real Interest & wellfare of 
y 8 dear Ch and People for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.” 

And yet the “ little rift ” widened and deepened 
year by year, until in the revolt from the hideous fatal- 
ism and hopelessness of Calvin the church planted by 
the Pilgrims, and watered with their tears and blood, 
lapsed into such breadth and width of Liberalism as to 
dispense with all boundaries or limitations except those 
of morality and good taste. It was a clear perception 
of this drift, and his inability to stay or direct it, that 
broke Chandler Robbins’ righteous heart and sent him 
to a premature grave. Poor heart ! It could not ex- 
pand, it could only burst ! 

But for the moment the patriot came to the relief of 
the Calvinist, and as LeBaron looked at him with grave 
concern and perplexity, wondering what drugs to min- 
ister to this mind diseased, the minister raised a face 
glowing with animation and exclaimed, — 

“ This is wonderful, Doctor, really wonderful ! There 
can be no question now of going back ; it is all the 
same as a declaration of war between the colonies and 
the mother country.” 

“And the mother will fare like Deacon Spooner’s 
pig, having very much the same character of unreason- 
ing obstinacy.” 

“ What about the deacon’s pig ? ” asked the parson, 
with a side glance at the newspaper ; but the doctor 
knew that this would keep, and preferred to make his 
patient laugh a little to begin with. 

“ Why, the other day, just as the deacon, in all the 
glories of a fresh ruffled shirt, polished shoes, a newly 
dressed wig tied with a smart ribbon, his laced hat on 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 


265 


his head, and his gold-headed cane in his hand, set 
forth for the Old Colony Club-room, where he had 
been invited to spend the evening, he espied his fat pig 
creeping through a hole in his sty and emerging into 
the alley between North and King Streets ” — 

“ Spooner’s Alley, as he calls it.” 

“ Yes, just as I call its continuation LeBaron’s Alley. 
We all love the sound of our own names. Well, it 
seemed but the work of a moment to overtake and head 
the creature back into the same breach through which 
he had escaped, and Ephraim stirred his stumps to do it, 
calling out at the same time in his pleasant fashion, 
‘ Piggie ! Piggie ! Here Piggie, this way, Piggie, this 
way, Mr. Piggie ! ’ ” 

“The man’s voice to a T ! Were you there to see 
and hear, Doctor ? ” 

“ I was like peeping Tom of Coventry, in sight but 
not to be seen,” replied the doctor, watching the parson’s 
laugh with professional approval. “ Well, Mr. Piggie 
turned very obediently, but instead of creeping in again 
at the hole in the fence, rushed past it and out into the 
street, the deacon in close pursuit, holding on his hat 
with one hand, for there was a sea-turn on, with a 
shrewd east wind, and it called for pretty rapid use of 
those polished shoes to get ahead of Piggie running up 
the hill ; but the deacon is a resolute man as well as a 
very courteous one, and still as he ran, flourishing the 
gold-headed stick in one hand and holding on his hat 
with the other, he never ceased politely calling ‘ Here, 
Piggie ! Here, Piggie ! This way, Mr. Piggie, this 
way, good little Piggie ! ’ ” 

“ Oh dear ! I can hear him ! ” 

“ Well, up and down North Street they raced, round 


266 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Cole’s Hill and back, a little way up King Street, where 
Simeon Samson, just stepping out of his door, headed 
him off, and finally straight down the hill to Water 
Street, the poor deacon scrambling and slipping after, 
much to the disadvantage of those shoes as I am sore 
afraid, and not without a tumble or two. Arrived at the 
bottom and picking himself up, the deacon looked about 
him, and behold ! Mr. Piggie, with the air of a gentle- 
man taking a walk, was trotting down Lothrop’s wharf, 
grunting his disapproval of such interference. 

“ ( I think I have you now, Mr. Piggie, and I will lead 
you home by your ear with a string tied round it,’ re- 
marked the deacon, fumbling in his pocket for that piece 
of whipcord I have heard him boast of always carry- 
ing. I strolled along in the same direction, for in fact 
there is no air to be found more salubrious than that at 
the end of Lothrop’s wharf ” — 

“Especially in a sea-turn in December,” remarked 
the parson, wiping his eyes. 

“ Exactly. Well, the deacon found his whipcord and 
made a running noose at one end, then gently stepped 
up to Piggie, who stood contemplating the. water with a 
certain ominous twist to his tail, as one who screws his 
courage to the sticking-point. 

“ ‘ I have you now, Mr. Piggie, and you won’t get 
away in a hurry I do assure you,’ exclaimed the deacon, 
making a final stride upon his prey ; but no sooner did 
his hand touch the creature’s neck, than with one wild 
grunt of defiance he made the final plunge, diving off 
the wharf in such a hurry as nearly to carry the deacon 
with him, and striking out with his fore feet, which at 
every pass scratched his own throat, and in the end 
would cut as deep as the knife which in some vision of 
the night he had doubtless seen awaiting him.” 


SOME OLD RECORDS. 


267 


“ Actually jumped off the wharf ! ” 

“ Actually ; and as it was just the turn of the tide, and 
the ebb setting out like a mill-stream, he was no sooner 
in the water than out of reach. The deacon stood and 
looked after him for a moment, then rolled up his string 
very carefully and neatly, and replaced it in his pocket. 
By that time he had recovered his breath and his man- 
ners, and taking off his hat, he bowed until its brim 
touched the ground, shouting, — 

“ 4 Good-by, Mr. Piggie ! A pleasant voyage to you, 
Mr. Piggie ! No doubt you know your own business 
best, but in my tuppenny-ha’-penny judgment you ’ve 
made a very poor departure. Still, you have my best 
wishes, my ve - ry best wishes ! * And putting on his 
hat again he trotted off down Water Street, and I hid 
behind a shed till he was gone.” 

“ Well, Doctor, I have n’t laughed as much since our 
French friends were here, and it has done me good.” 

“ If there should be trouble between the Colonies and 
England, we may see our French friends again,” re- 
marked the doctor, significantly. 

“ Say you so ! You hear from them sometimes ? ” 
“From Philip de Montarnaud as often as occasion 
serves. He writes to Margot in French.” 

“ And there will be trouble — there is trouble ! Why, 
the seizing these cargoes of tea and throwing them over- 
board is equal to a declaration of war. England will 
never sit down under such an insult ! ” 

“ A people who take such a step as that are prepared 
to go all the way,” replied the doctor, sententiously. 
“ Such men as John Adams at the head of the move- 
ment, and John Hancock, Henderson Inches, and Ben- 
jamin Austin, the committee chosen to warn the con- 


268 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 

signees of tlieir peril, do not, like the deacon’s pig, 
plunge into deep water and cut their own throats to 
escape being led by the ear. If it comes to a struggle, 
the New England will beat the Old, and if she can’t do 
it alone, the French will help her.” 

“ And so moderate as they showed themselves ! ” ex- 
claimed the parson. “ Not an article injured or taken 
away, save only the accursed thing for which they came 
to seek. Did you mark this incident, Doctor, of the 
Mohawks passing a house where Admiral Montague was 
passing the evening, and he opening the window to call 
out as they went by, ‘ Well boys, a fine evening you ’ve 
had for your Indian caper, but mind you, the fiddler is 
yet to be paid ! ’ 

“ And Pitts called back, ‘ Oh, never mind, Admiral, 
never mind ! Just come out here, and we ’ll settle the 
bill in two minutes ! ’ ” 

“ Yes, hut if he had gone out, there would have been 
no harm done. These men are patriots, not rioters,” 
said the doctor, proudly, and glad am I that my sons 
are stalwart men, and my daughters the mothers of 
boys. They will conquer a peace that shall build up a 
new country here in the wilderness, and they, unlike 
their father, are the sons of this land.” 

“ Yes, and I too have sons and daughters, and though 
I he a man of peace, I may pray to the God of battles 
that the cause of the righteous may prosper.” 

“ Do so, Parson ; you may keep the paper. Good day 
to you.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


HOW THE HOUSE OF LEBARON REJOICED. 

44 Now, you Sylvy, beat dem eggs up good ! Miss 
Prissy’s weddin’ cake ain’t a-goin’ ter be slighted long 
as ole Phyllis is to de fore. Here, Marcy, you put on 
you sunbunnit an’ run down to de store fer quarter 
pound nutmegs. W’ere ’s dat young one got to now, 
Sylvy ? ” 

44 W’y, aun’ Phyllis, does you disremember dat you 
sen’ her a-flyin’ ober to Mis’ Lyddy’s to git her hearts 
an’ roun’s, an’ ’fore dat inter Mis’ Bart’s ter see if 
Mis’ Marg’et in dere ? ’Pears like dat pore lil’ chile 
ought ter be sot on wheels ; it ’s 4 Marcy, run here, an’ 
Marcy, run dere, an’ Marcy, run dis way, an dat way, 
an’ toder way,’ from sun-up till dark, but don’no as 
I ever heerd 4 Marcy, put on you bunnit an’ go to dame- 
school to larn you letters.’ ” 

44 An’ I donno w’ats cornin’ to dis yere pore ole worl’ 
w’en de lil’ niggers has got to have book-larnin’, an’ 
dere mammies can’ spen’ time to do dere wuk ’cause 
dey ’s got so much growlin’ ter do. Wish’t now I had n’ 
done ’greed to go an’ lib wid Miss Lyddy an’ let you 
come here, you pore mis’able shif’less cretur, dough I ’s 
free to ’fess I could n’ no way stan’ hevin’ a Harlow 
sot ober my head, I dat ’s alluz b’longed to de LeBarons. 
Well, well, de Lord kin fix it all up to suit hese’f, I ain’t 
got nuffin’ ter say. Now, den, gimme dose eggs, no, you 


270 DR. LeBARON and his daughters . 


come an’ kin’ o’ trinkle ’em in, drefful easy, w’iles I 
beat.” 

“ Mis’ Prissy showed me her weddin’ gownd w’en I 
was up thar makin’ her bed this mornin’,” observed 
Sylvia with an ingratiating air, as she held the bowl 
steady for Phyllis to scoop out the last of the egg with 
her fat forefinger. 

“ Um — yes, Miss Prissy mos’ too good-natured fer 
her own good,” mumbled she. “ Bet you did n’ see dem 
leetly tonty w’ite satin slippers dat come all de way from 
France fer ’er.” 

“ Yes, I did ; Miss Marg’et was in de room, an’ she 
took ’em out an’ showed ’em to me, an’ she sez, sez she, 
‘ De gen’leman dat I ’s gwine fer ter marry done sen’ 
dese yere,’ sez she.” 

“ Don’ b’lieve a word uv it,” declared Phyllis jeal- 
ously. “I ain’t seen no sech a t’ing, an’ ’t ain’t likly 
dey ’d show ’em to a strange nigger like you.” 

u Oh, I guess dey ’s layin’ out to s’prize you wid ’em 
all to wons’t w’en dey gets de weddin’ suit all sot out on 
de bed,” suggested Sylvia with a deprecatory and in- 
gratiating manner, for “ ole aun’ Phyllis,” as she had 
come to be called, was supposed to hold some mysterious 
sway over the minds of “ de w’ite folks ” in whose ser- 
vice her life had been spent, and to be able to make or 
mar the position of her fellow-servants according to 
their favor in her own eyes. And truth to tell, Phyllis’s 
temper at this time was in a condition necessitating a 
good deal of caution on the part of her assistants, for 
great changes were taking place in the home she had 
always felt to be hers for life, and old people, be they 
black or white, do not love change and instability. 

Priscilla was about to marry Abraham Hammatt, 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 271 


whose father the Captain was recently dead, and was 
to go home with him to that pleasant old bouse near 
the corner of North Street, where later on, the first 
Bank in Plymouth was established, with Lydia Le- 
Baron Goodwin’s son, William, as its cashier. The old 
house still stands, with B A N K in iron letters across 
its brick south end, and despite the prosaic uses of to- 
day, one may fancy Lucy Howland and her Captain, 
their son, with sweet Priscilla LeBaron and those later 
occupants of whom we may speak by-and-by, flitting in 
and out the low-browed door, peeping through the win- 
dows, or gazing in wonder at the electric cars that pass 
their old habitation. 

Dr. LeBaron, thus left alone with Margot, who 
showed no genius for domestic affairs, had engaged a, 
competent housekeeper named Harlow, whose prospec- 
tive authority Phyllis so vehemently defied that “ Miss 
Lyddy,” as she still called the doctor’s oldest daughter, 
albeit the young Goodwins were already men and wo- 
men grown, had arranged with her father to exchange 
Phyllis for Sylvia and her little girl Mercy, or as she 
was always called, Marcy, whose father was “young 
Pomp,” given to Lyddy on her marriage, and now no 
longer either young or junior of his name, for Pompey 
the elder lay resting from his labors upon Burying 
Hill, with a gravestone at his head, whereon LeBaron 
had inscribed : — 

“ Glory and shame from no condition rise ; 

Act well your part, there all the honor lies.” 

Lydia Goodwin had, as we know, a talent for admin- 
istration, and when her husband brought home Sylvia, 
a good-looking young negress, to succeed Violet in the 
position of cook, she at once informed her that she was 


272 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


to be married to Pompey, a step which would make 
things comfortable, both as regards morality and domes- 
tic arrangements. Sylvia, trained in the family of Dr. 
Cotton Mather to strict and silent obedience, made 
no reply to this proposition, but Pompey, who had ex- 
panded under widely different influences, ventured to 
remark that he was “ tentive to Mas’ Cotton’s Chloe,” 
and preferred his own taste to that of his mistress. 
But Lydia with good-humored peremptoriness made 
short work of such absurdities, and a few days later 
called the two chattels into the parlor, where Mr. Rob- 
bins with smiling face and book in hand stood ready 
to marry them. 

The ceremony over, and an awkward pause ensuing, 
the parson said with grave jocularity : “ Salute your 
bride, Pompey ! ” But he, after one glance at the sable 
expectant face, stepped back, and executing a marvelous 
bow, replied : “ Arter you is manners fer me, Mas’r 
Robbins,” and poor Sylvia was not saluted at all. But 
she had a new gown, a big wedding cake, and a hus- 
band, so no complaints were heard. 

A few months later, Nathaniel Goodwin thought best 
to send Pompey to sea, in a short-handed schooner, and 
he was away for a year or so. Returning unexpectedly, 
he sauntered up from the wharf and around the house to 
the old stoop, where years before he had lain on his 
stomach to hear Uncle Quasho’s story of his kidnap- 
ping. Here he found Sylvia busy in the wash-tub, 
from which, at sound of footsteps, she turned her head 
without removing her hands ; recognizing her husband 
she resumed her rubbing, saying carelessly, — 

“ Dat you, Pompey ! Got back, ain’t you ? ” 

“ Got back fer shore. Well, Sylvy, how ’s you fin’ 
yerse’f ? ” 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 273 


“ Indipperent, t’ankyou, Pompey. How ’s you he’lf ? ” 

“ Fusrate.” 

And seating himself upon the step, Pompey helped 
himself to apples from a basket standing near, and eat- 
ing them in generous bites, threw the cores to the ducks 
who waddled and quacked about the steps, precisely as 
their ancestors had done. 

Sylvia washed, and sung in her sweet shrill voice 
one of Tate and Brady’s hymns, whose melody attracted 
Marcy from her play by the kitchen fire, and brought 
her toddling out. At sight of the child, an instinct of 
politeness moved in Sylvia’s heart, and breaking off her 
hymn but not stopping her washing she remarked : — 

“ I ’ll make you ’quainted wid Marcy, Pompey. 
Done got her baptize inter de chu’ch.” 

“ Sho ! ” replied the father, pausing with a half an 
apple in his mouth, to contemplate his offspring. 
“ S’pec’s Miss Lyddy awful tickled to get ’nodder nig- 
ger wi’out payin' fer her.” 

But this is a digression, and we come back to the 
statement that Phyllis and Prince had now become 
Goodwin servants, while Pompey with Sylvia and 
Marcy were made over to Doctor LeBaron, who re- 
tained Quasho as his personal and confidential attendant 
to the day of his death. 

He it is who, with white head but a vigorous and 
peremptory step, now appears at the kitchen door. 

“ Folks is jes’ here, Aun’ Phyllis.” 

“ Sho ! How many dis time, Quash ? ” 

“ Fur ’s I kin make out, dis ’stallment is Mis’ Joe 
dat was, an Mas’ Joe’s Mis’ Sally, an’ her husban’ Mas’ 
Hazen, an’ a picaninny or two, an’ Mas’ Lem from 
Mattapoisett an’ he bride, I s’pose de young mistis is. 


274 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Any way dey ’s close aboard, jes’ a-stoppin’ to pass de 
time o’ day wid Mas’ Bart’s folks, an’ Mas’ Doctor sen’ 
me in to tell you.” 

“ Now wa’n’t it a mussy I done got dat cake all 
tucked up nice in de oven an’ de door chock tight ! ” 
ejaculated Phyllis, hurriedly washing her hands and 
wiping them upon the tow roller-towel. Now, you Sylvy, 
don’ you look tor’st dat oven till I come hack, but gib 
you best ’tention to de dinner, an’ soon as dat Marcy o’ 
yourn come in sen’ her up chamber ter see if Miss Prissy 
don’ wan’ some arrant did.” 

And Phyllis, who had hurriedly tied on a gorgeous 
new bandanna turban, hastened upstairs to see that all 
was ready for the guests, who were to crowd not only 
the doctor’s house but that next one, once the home of 
Joseph and his wife, but since his death, of his brother 
Bartlett LeBaron and his family. Joseph’s widow, 
whom we remember as Sarah Leonard, had in her 
widowhood found a home at Haverhill, where her 
daughter Sarah, at the age of fifteen, was married to 
William Hazen and went to live in Newburyport. 

But when stirring Lydia Goodwin came over to her 
father’s house to arrange with him about Priscilla’s 
wedding, she found him resolved upon one point around 
which all other arrangements were to be adjusted. 
Every one of his sons and daughters, and every one of 
their children, was to be invited to spend a week as 
guests of the head of the house, and those for whom 
room could not be found in the family mansion he 
wished to have invited by Lydia, and by Bartlett, or as 
a last resort to be placed at the house of S’uth’ard How- 
land, who was now to be reckoned as one of the fam- 
ily, since Isaac LeBaron was at last to marry Martha 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 275 


Howland on the same day that Priscilla married 
Hammatt. 

“ I want to see them all, Lyddy, all,” reiterated her 
father. “ I want to judge for myself whether I ’ve been 
a benefactor to my race or not, before I leave the world. 
Planting trees is all very well, but I have planted a 
family, and I want to review it now that all is over.” 

“ Over, father ! You ’re not ailing again, are you ? 
Why don’t you take some physic ? ” 

“ Throw physic to the dogs, Lyddy, but don’t let 
them lap it up, poor fellows.” 

“ Why father, you always gave physic to sick folk 
while you practiced, did n’t you ? ” 

“ Oh yes, abundance of it, Lyddy, abundance of it.” 

“Then why not treat yourself as well as your pa- 
tients, father ? ” 

“ I treat myself better, child, and let it alone. I ’ve 
seen the folly of it, and I wish you could see the folly 
of a woman’s trying to argue. Sit you down now and 
make out a list of invitations, and Pris shall write them 
out in her pretty Italian hand.” 

“Well, of course there’s Mr. Goodwin and myself 
and our children, with Nat’s wife, and my Lyddy is en- 
gaged to Thomas Lothrop.” 

“ Never mind him, I ’m not responsible for him, but 
— yes, Lyddy may bring him, just to make the little 
witch happy; and Nat’s wife, she was Molly Jackson 
was n’t She ? ” 

“ Why of course, father.” 

“ Excuse me, my dear, but after remembering all the 
marriages of one’s own children, one’s mind is apt to 
wander a little when it comes to the next generation. 
Well, there ’s you and Goodwin, and your Nat and his 


276 DR. Le BARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Molly, and your Lyddy and Tom Lothrop, and your 
other children. Then comes Mary and William Brad- 
ford and their children, they ’ll all come, Bristol is not 
such a long way from Plymouth. Then Hannah and 
Ben Goodwin will come down from Boston, and Eliza- 
beth”— 

“ Teresa comes next,” interrupted Lydia, but her 
father sadly shook his head. 

“ I shall never see Tressy again. She and Lazarus 
will not come from Barbadoes, and Joseph is dead, 
but you must send for his little girl, who married a Ha- 
zen, t ’other day, Sally her name was I remember, after 
her mother Parson Leonard’s daughter, sweet soul.” 

“Yes, father, the Hazens.” 

“Well, Bartlett lives next door, and that finishes your 
mother’s children. Then comes Isaac, who is to he 
married at Howland’s, and then come on here for his 
supper, and Elizabeth Robbins with her Ammy Ruhamas 
senior and junior, — I shall be as glad to see Bess again, 
as of anything in this world ; then Lem and his young 
wife will come from Mattapoisett, — perhaps Pris will 
like to have him help Parson Robbins to tie the knot, — 
and poor Frank is dead in South Carolina, and only 
Billy is left of the boys, who but yesterday were the 
torment of the town. Well, well, — yes, get them all 
together, Lyddy, every one of them, and every chick 
and child, and even their sweethearts ; didn’t I hear 
that Billy had one ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, he is promised to Sarah Churchill, daughter 
of John Churchill and Sarah Cole, you know. She has 
a fine lot of land on Main Street tacked to her petticoat, 
from her mother’s side.” 

“ Oh, well, ask her too, and now, Lyddy, I ’m going 
into my study for a while, so good-by.” 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 277 


Although so abruptly dismissed, Mrs. Goodwin lost no 
time in injured feeling, but carefully revising her list, 
she went to seek Priscilla, and direct her to write out 
the invitations in her best style, but found her reading a 
letter with deepest attention. 

“ That ’s Sally Sever’s handwriting,” exclaimed the 
elder sister in a detective sort of tone ; “ what mad prank 
is she proposing now ? ” 

“ Mad prank ? ” repeated Priscilla, folding up her 
letter and putting it in the bosom of her baby-waisted 
cotton gown, “Well, she’s going to be married, that’s 
all.” 

“ I think father ought to look over those letters, — 
I ’ve more than a mind to tell him so.” And Lydia, who 
was thirty years older than her pretty sister, stood and 
glared upon her with such severity that Priscilla, blush- 
ing and laughing, ran out of the room to lock up her 
friend’s letter, which, lying here before me yellow and 
tattered, yet forever young, proves that girls were just 
as merry, and just as silly, a hundred and twenty years 
ago as they are to-day. But in her haste Priscilla had 
dropped another paper, which Lydia pounced upon, and 
read aloud with slow and scornful emphasis. It was 
headed — 

“ On the friendship of Miss Hannah Howland and 
Priscilla LeBaron,” and ran as follows : — 

“ Hail, beauteous maydes, whome friendship binds 
In softest yet in strongest ties ; 

Soft as the temper of your minds, 

Strong as the lustre of your eyes. 

So Venus’ doves in copies fly, 

And friendly steer their equal course, 

Whose feathers eupid’s shafts supply, 

And wing them with resistless force. 


278 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Thus as you move love’s tender flame 
Like that of friendship paler burns ; 

Both, our divided pasion claim, 

And friends and rivals prove by turns. 

Then rest yourselves and bless mankind, 

Friendship so curst no more pursue, 

In Wedlock’s rosy bow’rs you ’ll find 
The joys of Love and friendship too.” 

Beneath was written, — 

“ It is the first time my muse has ever broak silence, 
but ” — 

“ Sister Lyddy ! Aren’t you ashamed of youself, 
reading other people’s letters, and, — give it to me ! ” 
And with much the air of an angry ring-dove, Priscilla, 
who had flown into the room in time to catch the tone 
of the reader, snatched the paper from her hand, and 
stood gazing at her with eyes full of that unlimited 
scorn, wherewith young people regard the misdemeanors 
of their elders. 

“ You tell Abr’am Hammatt I ’m as sorry for him as 
ever I was for the toothache,” replied Lydia, quietly, 
and leaving the matter of the invitations for the moment, 
she went out to talk with Phyllis, but safe upon the other 
6ide of the door she muttered, — 

“ Hannah Howland’s all well enough, but she is n’t a- 
patch on Priscilla LeBaron ! ” 

However, the invitations were written that night, and 
sent by friendly hands or paid messengers, for this was 
before the post-rider had been seen in Plymouth, and 
when the day arrived, the guests assembled, a bright 
and merry crowd of every age, from the doctor himself, 
to his youngest grandson, a sturdy little fellow in the 
arms of Sarah Hazen, at whom her grandfather looked 
long and often, not so much because she was a remark- 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 279 


ably beautiful woman, as because through her father she 
had inherited the face of the doctor’s first wife, and the 
old man, looking at those dark blue eyes, rosy mouth, 
and complexion of cream and roses, albeit joined to a 
resolute line of brow and chin, saw the vision of his 
own lost youth, and the dream that had seemed to him 
in those days a vision direct from Paradise. 

u You have a handsome wife, William Hazen,” said 
he, as the young man came up to make some courteous 
remark to his host. 

“ Yes, sir, and as good as she is handsome,” replied 
the happy husband. 

“ She tells me you are thinking of removing to Nova 
Scotia. What ’s that for ? ” 

“ Partly, sir, because, like the man in the Bible, I have 
bought a piece of land, and must needs go and look after 
it, that is to say I have invested largely in lands near 
St. John, but partly because I do not sympathize with 
the spirit of rebellion and anarchy which seems taking 
possession of this land.” 

u Hm ! A Tory, are you ? ” demanded the doctor, 
with a fine smile, and producing his snuff-box. William 
Hazen looked at him inquiringly, then making the most 
of his stately figure, answered gravely, — 

“ I am loyal to my King, Dr. LeBaron.” 

“ Hm — yes, — well, I would go and look after that 
piece of land, if I were you, and hark’y, grandson-in- 
law, I ’d go pretty soon. Do you take snuff ? ” 

“ No, sir, — I ” — 

“ No ? Well, I do.” And the doctor inhaled a pinch 
with great relish. But in his will he left the sum of 
fifty Spanish milled dollars to Sarah, wife of William 
Hazen. 


280 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


And so the evening came, and with it the Rev. Lem- 
uel LeBaron, from Mattapoisett, who, as it were, held 
the candle for Dr. Robbins, as he made fast the knot 
which only death was to dissever between Abraham and 
Priscilla, while Isaac LeBaron and his hour-old bride 
stood by and shared the blessing and the festal joy, 
so mingled of family affection and that strange new ele- 
ment that enters into family life when one member calls 
upon all the rest to rejoice with her because she has found 
one whom she loves far better than them all. 

Next to his two new married children stood the doc- 
tor, leaning upon Margaret’s shoulder, and unconsciously 
presenting a picture which those who saw it loved to 
speak of in after years, describing with loving reverence 
the majestic and unbowed figure of the old man with 
his pallid face and snow-white hair and the keen blue 
eyes, upon which had passed no touch of time, and the 
noble features shrewd and kindly, yet instinct with a 
nobility that upon the face of his grandsire had no 
doubt been hauteur. Contrasting with this stately figure 
the piquant loveliness of the girl shone forth like that 
of some sweet bright blossom nestling beside a stately 
ruin ; her rich coloring contrasting with his pallor, her 
clustering and audacious curls with the soft whiteness of 
his hair, her lissome and dainty figure with his grand im- 
mobility, and the vivid darkness of her eyes with the 
frosty blue of his. 

“ Mas’ an’ Miss Margot looks as ef ’t was dey was de 
show, an’ Mis’ Pris an’ Mas’ Isaac an’ deir goin’s on was 
jes’ a kind o’ entertainment, same as de daughter o’ 
Herodias’ dance ’fore Herod,” observed Pompey to 
Quasho, as the two prepared to bring in the great salvers 


THE HOUSE OF LeBARON REJOICED. 281 


of refreshments to be served as a sort of prelude to the 
wedding supper. 

“ Don’ think Mas’ Isaac look much like Herodias’ 
daughter, an’ I don’ know as Mas’ Doctor ’s killed more 
lil’ chillen dan any odder gen’man in/de parfesion,” 
replied Quasho sourly, for the poor fellow’s heart was 
heavy in seeing this great family gathering and his 
master’s thoughtful looks at one and another. 

“ ’Pears like he studyin’ how dey ’ll look walking 
mourners to his fun’ral,” muttered he, as waiting for Pom- 
pey to precede him, he gazed through the crowd at the 
master in whom his own life was bound up, and the 
whips and syllabubs upon his tray had to wait until the 
faithful old hands had dashed away the tears blinding 
the bistre-colored eyes. 

“ Dere ’s no fool like an ole fool,” muttered he, once 
more raising the salver and preparing to enter the room ; 
but a light step sprang up the steps, and a blithe voice, 
whose accents of merry mockery he knew full well, 
replied : — 

“ Thou ’rt always right, my Quasho, but lament no 
more, for my wisdom hath come to help out your folly, 
and all will be well.” 

“ Oh, Lordy ! ” gasped Quash. “ Now de las’ one ’s 
a-goin’, an’ mas’r an’ me ’d better be goin’ too.” And 
once more laying down his tray, he stepped to the par- 
lor door and sonorously announced — 

“ Mas’ Cap’n de Montyno.” And only one person 
in the room was not taken by surprise. 

Later in the evening, sitting in the little study with 
his host, the new-comer said, — 

‘‘Yes, sir, if England pushes the matter to an issue, 


282 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


my friend the Marquis de Lafayette and a legion of 
brave fellows are coming over to fight upon this soil for 
the liberty and justice banished from our own fair land ; 
but I — I could not wait for events, or for Lafayette. 
I am here now, to fight if need be to the death against 
every foe for liberty, justice, and — Margot ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 

It was Sunday in January of 1775, and the people 
of Plymouth were assembling in their meeting-house 
at the foot of Burying Hill, the same house in whose 
construction Parson Leonard had so mightily rejoiced. 
The congregation embraced nearly all the adult inhab- 
itants except the handful who still held out in the schism, 
occasioned by Mr. Leonard’s fanaticism, and who occu- 
pied a house in King Street, or, as we call it, Middle 
Street, much to the discomfiture of Deacon Spooner, who 
wanted their land to put into his garden, and got it too, 
when the malcontents decided in 1783 to come home 
again previous to that more vital division ensuing at 
the death of the Rev. Chandler Robbins, when the men 
of his way of thinking drew off and became the Church 
of the Pilgrimage, and the majority became Unitarians 
naively calling themselves the First Church in Plymouth. 

Shades of Brewster and Faunce and Cotton and Rob- 
bins, what say ye ? 

But in 1775, the First Church, still Orthodox in name 
and tenets, assembled itself beneath its hundred-foot-' 
high spire with a gilded weather -cock on top, and, 
muffled in great-coats, cloaks, shawls, and furs, for no 
sybarite had as yet suggested fires in a meeting-house, 
prepared itself to listen with a divided mind to Parson 
Robbins’ eloquence. A divided mind, for on Saturday 


284 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


evening, despite the Sabbatical severity which made 
that period more sacred even than Sunday evening, it 
had been first rumored, and then boldly affirmed, that 
George Watson, that wealthy and honored townsman 
whose magnificent linden trees, on North Street, we still 
admire, had accepted a commission from the Crown as 
Mandamus Councillor, tempted to it no doubt by Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson, whose son Elisha was recently mar- 
ried to Watson’s daughter Mary. 

“ He rode down from Boston yesterday, carrying the 
accursed parchment in his pocket,” said one man to an- 
other, and the other muttered, “ Judas ! ” 

For in those days, the man who accepted office under 
the British government was held in Plymouth some- 
what more in abhorrence than was the Jew who became 
publican and collected the Roman tax from his country- 
men, and not all of Colonel Watson’s honorable ante- 
cedents, or the high position of his family, or bis wealth, 
or his stately presence, or his genial fellowship and 
courtesy to friends and neighbors during a life of more 
than fifty years, could counterbalance the patriotism 
that like a sacred fire burned in the hearts of the men 
of Plymouth already organizing to fight for the liberty 
their Pilgrim sires had conquered for them before. 

From mouth to mouth the bitter tidings were spread, 
until even upon the church steps a stern resolution was 
taken, and instead of waiting there as was the custom 
until the minister had gone in and the bell ceased toll- 
ing, every man passed into the church and took his seat 
at head of his pew. Through the midst gently stepped 
the pastor, wondering somewhat at this innovation ; the 
bell clanged out its last summons, and with it the stately 
figure of the Mandamus Councillor, dressed in the rich 


THE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 285 


clothes and laces proper to a gentleman of that period, 
carrying his three-cornered hat and gold-headed cane in 
one hand, passed up the aisle, the wintry sunlight strik- 
ing through the southern windows upon his well-pow- 
dered head, his mulberry-colored coat, and the delicate 
lace ruffles at his breast and wrists. Those who looked 
at his face said that it was white as his hair, and that 
his dark eyes had in them something of the hunted and 
desperate look of the stag who stands at bay ready to 
hopelessly fight to the death. 

A sudden silence fell upon the place, something 
deeper and more pregnant than the reverent stillness of 
the house of God ; even the minister risen in his place 
to make the opening prayer paused, and stood gazing 
down upon that imposing figure as if it were that of 
some messenger to be heeded even before the call to 
prayer. Stumbling a little as he entered his pew, the 
Councillor dropped his cane, and as if the clang were a 
preconcerted signal, almost every man in that house 
arose, opened his pew door, and forming two by two in 
solemn procession, passed down the aisle and out of the 
church, one pausing at the door to say aloud, — 

“We cannot worship with Judas.” 

The man so rebuked, so degraded from the high po- 
sition his but yesterday, stood and looked about him, 
his pale face growing ashen to the lips, his eyes filled 
with an agony of pain and shame. 

A sea ‘of frightened women’s faces, of wondering 
children’s eyes, and yes, — a few men, their angry, yet 
uncertain looks turned upon him. Edward Winslow, 
John Watson, Gideon White, Deacon James Foster, an 
apothecary named Dix, and two or three more, stood 
here and there undetermined what action to take, while 


286 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


the minister above their heads said something to which 
no one listened. A long, dreadful moment passed, and 
then the Councillor, who had not sat down at all, opened 
the door and very differently from the way he had 
come up the aisle walked down it, and out upon the 
steps, where knots of men stood talking in suppressed 
but vehement voices. As he appeared, those in his 
path drew aside, but none looked at him, none spoke, 
and passing through their midst with head uplifted and 
scornful eyes, Watson went his way down the hill and 
along the Main Street, and through North to his own 
house, nor was he seen again until the next morning, 
when he rode out of the town upon the Boston road, 
and his neighbor James Warren, with generous alacrity, 
told every one that Mr. Watson had decided not to ac- 
cept the office of Mandamus Councillor, and was gone 
to Boston to say as much to Governor Hutchinson. 

“ And right glad am I to hear it,” said Isaac Lothrop, 
heartily, when the news was told to him. “ George 
Watson is a man one has to respect, and if he hold 
opinions one cannot respect, it throws everything into 
confusion.” 

But once convinced of his error, Watson was too brave 
and too just a man to try to disguise his conversion, 
and when summoned with about a dozen more to account 
to the Committee of Vigilance appointed by the town, 
for his opinions and action, he at once subscribed the 
declaration of loyalty to the common interests and 
obedience to the provisional government, demanded of 
him, and became in the end a loyal and honest patriot, 
although never a democrat in principle or practice. 

But from this time began a new epoch in the social 
history of Plymouth ; the patriots, or Whigs, as they 


THE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 287 


were called, headed by James Warren, whose name was 
to become so famous in the annals of the Revolution, 
held the government of the place, and demanded that 
all men should range themselves openly upon the side 
of resolute resistance, armed and deadly if necessary, to 
the tyrannous policy of Great Britain ; should subscribe 
to certain formulas of allegiance, and be ready to an- 
swer to military summons. A small minority, perhaps 
a dozen men in all, set themselves in bitter opposition 
to all this. They found nothing oppressive in the 
Stamp \ct, or the Tea Tax, or the Boston Massacre : 
they called their townsmen rebels and insurgents, and 
prophesied their speedy punishment and suppression; 
they loved to speak in public of the divine right of 
kings, and especially of his majesty George III. and the 
royal family, as objects of reverence and awe. From 
the club room and the taverns the dispute penetrated 
to the church, and Deacon Foster, in an animated 
discussion at church-meeting over a sermon of Parson 
Robbins, from the text “ Put not your faith in princes,” 
called his townsmen a “pack of murderous rebels,” 
whereupon Deacon Spooner rose, and mildly inquired 
if “ Brother Foster ” knew what was the precise sin 
whereby Moses lost his entrance to the Promised Land' 

“ He was too much set up in his own opinion,” re- 
turned Foster readily ; but Spooner, who was celebrated 
for his courteous and winning manners, gently re- 
plied : — 

“ Nay, brother, but it seems to me it was because he 
called the Lord’s people rebels , and so proved himself a 
rebel to his own Master.” 

And then John Churchill arose with glowing face and 
tremulous voice, to relate how Deacon Foster had called 


288 DR. LeBARON and bis daughters . 


Churchill’s wife by a very bad name, because she up- 
held the patriot course in his presence, and to state that 
he for one would never sit down again with him at the 
Lord’s table, until he had apologized; and one after 
another joining in this decree of excommunication, the 
pastor formally requested the deacon to abstain from 
presenting himself for communion until he had publicly 
professed contrition for his abusive language, both to 
the patriots and to Mrs. Churchill. 

From words, the warfare came to deeds, and the 
baser sort of men in both parties seized the opportunity 
for inflicting upon each other those ferocious practical 
jokes which remind one of the sports of wild beasts. 

A tory named Dunbar, bringing the carcass of an ox 
to market in spite of warning, was tied up in it, and so 
carted out of the town ; some persons were tarred and 
feathered ; many were brought to the liberty pole in the 
town square, and forced to sign a recantation of their 
opinions and language. One Sunday morning, as the 
men stood collected before the church, a noted Tory of 
the town appeared among them, hatless, breathless, and 
stammering with excitement, holding something in both 
Viands and calling out : — 

“ A miracle — a miracle ! Heaven has declared itself 
openly on our side ! ” 

“ What is this unseemly disturbance upon the Lord’s 
Day ? ” sternly demanded Parson Robbins, turning back 
from the step he had already mounted. 

“ Look for yourself, parson ; look and read ! ” 

“ What is this ? A hen’s egg ? ” asked Robbins, be- 
wildered, as his parishioner carefully laid the object in 
his hand. 

“Yes, warm from the nest; I just gathered it,” 


THE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 289 

panted the owner, who, to do him justice, was perfectly 
sincere. 

“It is curious — most curious,” muttered the minister, 
closely examining the egg ; and then raising his head he 
said aloud, “It is quite true, my friends, that there are 
words traced apparently beneath the surface of this 
shell, and they read : “ ‘ O America, America, Howe 
shall be thy conqueror.’ Look for yourselves.” 

All crowded around, and the egg passed from hand 
to hand, most faces growing pallid and disturbed at 
what the Tories loudly claimed as proof of the Divine 
will and intention. But Deacon Spooner, after a close 
examination, stepped up to James Warren and Isaac 
Lothrop with his usual ingratiating little bow and said, 
“ It seems to me, brethren, that there is a little knot 
(not) in the shell just here between * shall ’ and ‘ be,’ 
proving as I fancy, that this is one of those mysterious 
sayings which the foolish will seize upon blindly, but 
wiser men will ponder until they find its hidden mean- 
ing.” 

“ I don’t know as I quite follow the deacon,” re- 
marked Jacob Cook, who had pushed himself into the 
little group, “ but it don’t seem likely to me that the 
Almighty would preach through an old hen. I guess 
we ’d better go into church and listen to Mr. Robbins.” 

“Very sensible advice, Cook,” replied Lothrop, “and 
I for one shall act upon it.” 

It was some months after this that General Gage, 
requested by the Tories or Loyalists of Marshfield to 
protect them, sent down a detachment of troops called 
the Queen’s Guards, under Captain Balfour, and this 
gentleman proving a genial and well-bred companion, 
was received with open arms, not only into the Loyal' 


290 DR LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


ist society of Marshfield, Duxbury, and Kingston, but 
Plymouth, where he and his officers often presented 
themselves, greatly to the annoyance of the patriots, 
and to the disapproval of the cooler heads among the 
Tories, who feared popular tumults ; and not without 
reason, as was seen upon one occasion when a member 
of the Committee of Vigilance, finding an officer annoy- 
ing a young girl in the streets, used some personal vio- 
lence toward him, whereupon the officer drew his sword 
and menaced the Vigilant, who, however, soon drew 
to his assistance a crowd of eager patriots, whose threats 
seemed so serious that the officer sought shelter in the 
shop of the druggist Dix, and would have escaped at 
the back, but found a detachment of Vigilants await- 
ing him ; returning to the front a parley was called, 
and in the end the officer was obliged to surrender his 
sword, which was immediately broken into bits beneath 
the feet of the patriots, who then retired quietly, leav- 
ing the mortified lieutenant at liberty to retire. 

Soon after this, Balfour and his officers were invited 
to dine with Edward Winslow, in his fine new house on 
North Street, and all the Tory gentlemen of the town 
were summoned to meet them. The dinner set at the 
ultra fashionable hour of two was an admirable one, for 
Mrs. Edward Winslow was Hannah Howland, and so 
came of a race of noted housewives and delicate cooks, 
in the days when no lady disdained to put her own 
hand to the engine of man’s content and domestic satis- 
faction. The dinner was good, and the wines were 
good, and a great many loyal toasts were proposed and 
honored, until at last Captain Balfour magnificently 
proposed to march his ‘Queen’s Guards into Plymouth 
the next day, and take measures to punish, not only 


THE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 291 


those rebels who had molested his officer, but all who 
declined to take an oath of allegiance to his Majesty 
George III. Most of the guests, heated with wine and 
the pride of loyalty, vociferously applauded this resolu- 
tion, but John Watson, sitting next to Captain Balfour, 
shook his head and remained silent ; the captain noted 
this and presently inquired in a low voice : — 

“ What is your opinion, Mr. Watson, upon this mat- 
ter?” 

“ I do not want to see the war begin in Plymouth,” 
replied Watson, who loved his wife, the beautiful Lucia 
Marston, and his little children. 

“ You think the rebels will fight ! ” exclaimed the 
Englishman, in surprise. 

“They ’ll fight like devils, sir,” replied Watson, with 
an odd mingling of pride and detestation in his tone. 
But although the Queen’s Guards did not come to Plym- 
outh, Plymouth shortly after this went to them, for a 
rider covered with dust and grime galloped his spent 
horse into the town one morning, and announced the 
battle of Lexington and Concord, told of Paul Revere’s 
ride (fancy the hearing it as the news of the day, and 
not as a legend!), told of the “embattled farmers ” of 
Concord, of the Percy’s ignominious retreat, and of 
the men who, slain by the panic of their own retreat, 
fell down in their red coats beside the road and died of 
heat and exhaustion, or fell panting among the fields of 
finger-high wheat waving in the soft south wind of that 
19th of April, 1775. 

“ Our men killed ! Our houses burned ! ” cried the 
patriots of Plymouth. “ Then it is time for us to take 
measures with these gentlemen at Marshfield, lest they 
try the same game upon us ! ” 


292 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


And all that day and night the old town was alive 
with glancing lights, and hurrying men, and the clash 
of arms, and sobbing prayers of women, until with the 
morning light a great body of militia and volunteers, 
embracing several hundred fishermen then in port, 
marched out of Plymouth under command of Colonel 
Theophilus Cotton, with banners flying, drums beating, 
bells ringing, and all the town on foot to cheer them, 
and bid godspeed. 

Perhaps the finest company in the regiment, or rather 
the little army, for as it passed on through Kingston and 
Duxbury, its dimensions swelled beyond counting, was 
one commanded by Captain Abraham Hammatt, whose 
noble figure and majesty of port were so great that a 
child of the epoch said in his old age that he was a 
big lad before he doubted Captain Hammatt’s being the 
governor of the State. Above his head waved a brave 
silken banner wrought by the fingers of Priscilla his 
wife, and in its shade marched not only his own work- 
men and ’prentice lads, but sailors who had served 
under his father and honored the name of Hammatt, 
and many of his townsmen, who would not have taken 
the word of command from less honorable and trusted 
lips. 

Another company under Captain Nathaniel Morton 
and happy in the services of Doctor James Thacher^ 
proceeded from Marshfield to Roxbury, and joining 
the provincial army gathered there, served through the 
war. 

But the great Battle of Marshfield, looming like a 
Fata Morgana upon the horizon, was doomed never to 
be fought except in that fair land of It-Might-Have-Been ; 
for General Gage, foreseeing very probably the action of 


TEE DOGS OF WAR LET LOOSE. 293 


the men of Plymouth, sent hasty messengers and a trans- 
port fleet to Marshfield, so that when the Old Colony 
force marched into the town, the Queen’s Guards were 
hurriedly embarking, and as Colonel Cotton had received 
no orders from the Provisional Government to capture 
an unresisting foe, he simply allowed them to fly, not 
without a gentle allusion or two on the part of some of 
the less dignified of the volunteers to the swaggering 
and insolent conduct of the Guards during their late 
visit to Plymouth. 

And so the dance began, and the untrained, un- 
moneyed, inexperienced sons of the Pilgrims set them- 
selves, as their fathers had done, to contend for the Right 
against the Might of the most powerful nation in the 
world, and, like their fathers, to succeed in gaining what 
they fought for. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

“ HURRAH FOR DAWSON ! ” 

“ Good-morntng, Quash ; fine morning, boy.” 

“Yes, Mas’ Nat, berry fine mornin’, sah, an’ ’scuse 
me, sah, you berry fine, too.” 

“ Well, yes, Quash, yes, I suppose a uniform is a 
little more striking than citizen’s clothes. You see 
they ’ve made me a major, Quash, and I ’m going up to 
Cambridge to-morrow to take my command. How — 
how — how do I look, Quash ? ” 

“Oh, berry gran’, Mas’ Nat, berry gran’ indeed! 
Look jes’ like a lion, Mas’ Nat.” 

“ A lion, you dunderhead ! What do you know about 
lions ? You never saw one.” 

“ Oh, yes, I have, Mas’ Nat, seen him an’ hear him 
sing, often ’nough.” 

“ When you were a baby in Africa ? ” 

“ No, mas’, but jes’ here. Ain’ dat a lion Mas’ John 
Watson bring down f’um Boston, t’oder day ? ” 

“ That ? Why, that ’s a jackass named Lion, you fool, 
and you ’re just such another.” 

“ Oh, no, ’scuse me, mas’r, I ain’t got no new uniform, 
I ain’t no lion nor noffin. Mornin’, Mas’ Nat.” 

And Quasho, bowing like a dancing-master, passed on 
to the barn of the old house where Major Nathaniel 
Goodwin and Molly, his wife, now reigned, in place of 
the first Nathaniel and Lydia LeBaron, although that 


HURRAH FOR DAWSON! 


295 


majestic widow still dominated the house and her daugh- 
ter-in-law. Fuming a little over the old negro’s privi- 
leged humor, the major, soon to be a general, passed 
on and around the crest of Cole’s Hill to take a look at 
the shipping, the legitimate occupation for certain hours 
of the day of all old Plymouth mariners, then and now. 
But at the foot of King Street, which the major care- 
fully called Middle Street, his stately progress was vio- 
lently interrupted by collision with a body not so heavy 
as his own, but infinitely more rapid and impetuous in 
its progress. 

“ Hullo, Samson ! ” cried the soldier, recovering his 
equilibrium, “ Don’t run me down as if I were a British 
cruiser, man ! ” 

“ Ask your pardon, Mr. Goodwin ” — 

“ Major Goodwin, if you please.” 

“ Oh, ay ! Men grow so fast these days. But I 
want to make out those sail yonder — I just went back 
to the house for my spy-glass, and — Aha, aha ! ” 

“ What is it, Captain, what is it ? Are the British 
upon us ? ” And the major rubbed his hands together 
and fairly danced with excitement. 

“ Yes, it ’s an armed brig flying the British colors, and 
making in past the Gurnet. Ha ! Barnes and Dyer 
have both caught sight of her, and are closing in, the one 
from Manomet, and t’other from Kingston. There ’ll be 
a fight, and here am I stuck ashore like an old woman ! 
Another week, and the Independence will be afloat ! ” 
And the captain, smiting his thigh with his fist, indulged 
in some of those sounding oaths which in that day were 
the sailor’s privilege. 

“ Here ! Let me look while you blow off your 
steam,” demanded the major, seizing the glass, while 


296 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


from the house hard hv came Deborah, with a kerchief 
tied round her comely head, and the light of battle in 
her eyes. 

“Is it a Britisher, Sim?” demanded she, with a 
neighborly nod to Goodwin. 

“ Yes, — and I ashore ! ” growled her husband, eye- 
ing his spy-glass in the major’s hands with impatient 
longing. 

“ There ’s Weston’s pinnace down at Peck’s wharf. 
You might find half a dozen men and get out there ! 
Dyer would give up the command if you could get 
aboard ! You ’re first naval commander of the Colonies’ 
forces, and have the right.” And the sailor’s wife shot 
a proud glance at Major Goodwin, who with the glass 
glued to his eye replied, — 

“ You ’re right, Mrs. Samson, your husband is the first 
naval officer commissioned by our new government, and 
I wish with all my heart the Independence was afloat 
and in commission as well. I ’ll warrant, Samson, you ’d 
give an account of that fellow — hark ! ” 

The sullen roar of heavy guns and the eager reply of 
smaller metal nearer at hand came drifting down the 
bay, and the hoarse cry of hundreds of human voices 
upon the hill, upon the wharves, lining the shore, and 
racing along the water’s edge made reply. Samson all 
but snatched his glass from the major’s hand, leveled it, 
and presently cried out, “ ’T is Dawson himself ! I 
know his signal ! He’s reconnoitring our harbor. Well 
shot, Barnes ! — down comes his topsail, and there ’s 
a sugarplum from Dyer that makes the splinters fly! 
No, Deb, I could n’t get there — there ’s no wind, and 
they ’ll do for him — let them have the credit — another 
day ’t will be my turn. Ha, poor old Barnes, that ’s 


“ HURRAH FOR DAWSON! 


297 


into you, lad, but give it back, give it back, old fellow — 
there, there, that ’s the chat ; now again ! Oh, if I was 
but at that swivel gun ! ” 

And now the windows and the flat roofs were crowded 
with women and children, and flags were run up, and 
handkerchiefs fluttered, and sweet voices grew shrill with 
outcry all of one note as it seemed, until at a window of 
whose but James Warren’s house appeared a stately 
and handsome girl, dressed in all the elegance of cos- 
tume peculiar to the day among wealthy folk, and hold- 
ing a Union Jack, which she defiantly waved above her 
head, shouting “ Hurrah for Dawson ! Down with the 
rebels ! Hurrah ! Hurrah for Dawson ! ” 

Already a mob was gathering, and the angry menaces 
of those whose kinsmen were at that moment fighting to 
the death against Dawson and his sovereign, began to rise 
to yells of execration, when the figure of the bold young 
Amazon was hastily, perhaps forcibly, withdrawn from 
the window, and in its stead appeared the gracious face 
of Mercy Otis, James Warren's gifted wife, as, leaning 
out, she waved a half-finished banner of her own con- 
struction, bearing the colony’s colors, while her clear 
kind voice rose distinct above the tumult. 

“ Friends and neighbors ! I pray you hold my guest 
excused for her rudeness and her folly ! Forgive her 
for James Warren’s sake, as well you may ! ” 

A silence, a hesitation, and then a voice shouted, 
“ Hurrah for James Warren ! ” and another, “ Hurrah 
for Warren’s wife ! ” and the crowd, after all a crowd 
of patriots, though untutored ones, took up the cry, gave 
three good-humored cheers, and streamed away down 
North Street to Cole’s Hill, to find that Dawson had 
concluded to follow the advice of Hudibras to “ fight 


298 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


and run away,” that he might “ live to fight another day,” 
as he did, to the sore discomfiture of Simeon Samson. 

But although the patriots of Plymouth could forgive 
the foolish insult of James Warren’s guest, those whose 
lives were risked and blood was shed in the struggle 
were not so placable, and the captain of one of the 
little privateers coming ashore that night, wounded just 
enough to make him very irritable, and grievously dis- 
appointed at not capturing Dawson, met the offender 
as she came from bidding good-by to some of her loyal- 
ist friends, and being but a rough companion at the 
best, he inflicted personal chastisement upon her then 
and there, shouting with every blow, “ That’s for Daw- 
son ! and that ’s for Dawson, and that ’s for Dawson ! ” 

It was not gentlemanly, but there was a certain Ho- 
meric justice about it, not altogether displeasing to pos- 
terity. 

A few days after this, the vigilant eyes always sweep- 
ing the horizon from the crest of Burying Hill descried 
a fleet of sail crowding around Elisha’s Point, and evi- 
dently making into the harbor. 

“ There ! ” cried the royalists in great triumph, “ His 
Majesty’s fleet is coming to chastise you rebels. Cap- 
tain Dawson came to reconnoitre and no doubt is pilot- 
ing this squandron in.” 

“ In that case we will make ready to welcome him 
and Ills friends,” valiantly replied the patriots; and 
forthwith a messenger on Isaac Lothrop’s fast horse 
was dispatched to Monk's Hill in Kingston to order the 
beacon lighted, and other couriers carried the tidings 
south and west, so that before two hours were passed 
the whole country side was roused and men came pour- 
ing into town armed with Queen Anne match-locks, 


“HURRAH FOR DAWSON /” 


299 


with blunderbusses and muskets, with “pieces” ten 
feet long to be fired from a rest, with every conceivable 
weapon, or with no weapon save a pair of ready hands, 
and a fund of Yankee adaptiveness. Patriotic house- 
wives threw open their doors, and after emptying their 
larders fell to work cooking of their best to supply the 
feast of victory ; the militia and minute-men assembled 
in their guard-rooms and formed upon the streets ; 
drums beat, bells rang, trial shots were fired, the town 
was under arms, while over all the northern sky rolled 
dense drifts of smoke and flaming clouds from the 
beacon flaming furiously upon Monk’s Hill. 

In the midst of this confusion the watchers espied a 
little cat-rigged boat shoot out from the mouth of Jones 
River in Kingston, and curtseying gayly to the strong 
east wind that fain would have beat her back, come 
skimming down to Plymouth. From the masthead flew 
a pennant at sight of which Deborah Samson, without 
removing the spy-glass from her eye, dryly remarked : — 

“ Captain Samson’s coming, and I guess there ’ll be 
less capering and more work.” 

“ Wish ’t he ’d bring the Independence along instead 
of that cat,” remarked Jacob Cook, standing by. 

“ Independence ! Good Lord, there ’s nothing but In- 
dependents here already,” exclaimed the wife of the 
commander. “ What you all want is a Regulator, and 
he ’s on the wharf already.” 

“ Hark ! What ’s that ! What ’s Captain Samson say- 
ing ? ” demanded the crowd, racing down from Cole’s 
Hill to the water side, and then scrambling up again 
with the news. 

“ It ’s Manly ! It ’s Captain Manly with a lot of 
British prizes ! Hurrah for Manly 1 Three cheers for 


300 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Manly ! ” “ And three cheers for Captain Samson, who 

had to come from Kingston to tell you the odds be- 
tween B and the bull’s foot,” cried Deborah as she 
closed her spy-glass with a clang and turned back to 
her house to see that the captain had a savory supper 
ready when he should reach home. 

A few Thomases held out, waiting for ocular evidence 
of the good news, but with the mass of the people laugh- 
ter at their own mistaken fears, and joy at their base- 
lessness, replaced the anxiety and strain of the previous 
hours ; and their confidence was proved reasonable when, 
some hours later, Captain Manly anchored his prizes 
and himself, very nearly upon the anchorage ground 
where a hundred and fifty years earlier the Mayflower 
had spent that terrible winter, and departed in the 
spring, carrying back neither father nor mother of those 
hundreds of freemen ready now, as were their fathers 
then, to lay down their lives for liberty of soul and 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


A WORM IN THE ROSE-HEART. 

“ Madam Winslow to see me, Marcy ! ” softly ex- 
claimed Priscilla Hammatt, looking up from the lively 
letter she was writing to her sister, Elizabeth Robbins, 
describing the late events in Plymouth. 

“ Yes ’m, all in her best satin gownd, with mitts on 
her hands ! ” insisted Marcy, round-eyed and voluble. 

“ Oh, well, I will come down.” And just pausing to 
pat the bunches of curls at either temple, and see that 
the string of her tucker was drawn tight enough to 
hide all but a tempting bit of her white neck, and that 
her large-flowered muslin dress did not look crushed 
or awry, the young wife tripped down the stairs and 
into the parlor where, amid the beau-pots and the rose- 
jars, and the china monsters and marine curiosities, rel- 
ics of the voyages of Lucy Howland’s husband, sat a 
stately dame, whose high-rolled hair needed no powder 
to whiten it, and whose decided Howland face scorned 
to disguise the signature Time had relentlessly set upon 
it. As Priscilla, blithe and bright in her young beauty, 
came into the room, the elder lady arose, and taking her 
by the hands kissed her on either cheek, saying, — 

“You look as fresh as the May, my dear. All this 
gunpowder and dust have grimed neither your skin nor 
your frock.” 

“ I hope not, madam, although I am proud enough 


302 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


that my husband knows the smell of the smoke and is 
not too dainty to risk the grime,” replied Priscilla with 
spirit. “ I pray you have this chair ; it is a thought 
more comfortable than that.” 

“ Nay, child, I ’ll have the hardest by way of train- 
ing. Do you know that we are flitting ? Driven out 
by these very rebels you are so fond of.” 

“ Yes, madam, my husband’s cousin, Mrs. Pelham 
Winslow, was telling us but yesterday,” replied Pris- 
cilla, somewhat stiffly. Madam Winslow laughed dis- 
agreeably. 

“ Yes, and your husband’s cousin, Gideon White, 
might have told him as well. We Howlands have mar- 
ried into good loyal stock, although as I tell my nephew 
S’uth’ard there ’s a perverse streak somewhere in the 
blood that will to the fore now and again. How is 
Lucy Howland ? ” 

“ My mother-in-law is but poorly to-day, or she would 
come down to see you, madam.” 

“ Lord, child, you need n’t be so stiff with me, nor 
trouble to put on all these pretty airs of mistress of the 
house. Lucy Howland was my brother Consider ’s 
child, and so my niece, years enough before ever you 
came into the world or your husband’s name was ever 
heard in Plymouth. The Hammatts are not of the 
old stock like the Howlands and the Winslows, you 
know.” 

“ And how soon do you purpose leaving Plymouth, 
madam ? ” 

“ It ’s not civil for a chit like you to ask questions of 
a woman of my years, hut I ’ll take care and send you 
word in time to come down and wave your handker- 
chief as we set sail ; or no — mayhap you ’d send your 


A WORM IN THE ROSE-HEART. 303 


doughty captain down with some of his sharpshooters 
to pick us off and capture our vessel.” 

“ I am glad to see you so merry, Madam Winslow.” 

“ Thank you for nothing, little Mistress Hammatt ; 
but there, child, I won’t tease you any more, tho’ it ’s as 
good as a play to see the fire flame up in your eyes 
and the roses in your cheeks. You look like your 
mother, Lyddy Bradford ; ah, she was a sweet crea- 
ture, and I was sorry enough when she died. You ’ve 
never a picture of her, have you, Priscilla ? ” 

“ No, madam, and I do not remember her at all,” said 
Priscilla, softly, all the fire of her eyes quenched in 
tears. “ I have only this.” 

And from a sandalwood box of treasures laid beside 
the great Bible on the side table, she brought a curious 
and grewsome ornament intended for a brooch or pen- 
dant, in the shape of a golden scroll, upholding a crys- 
tal coffin, in which lay a miniature skeleton of fine wire. 
Upon the black enamel face of the scroll ran the legend 

Lydia Le Baron Ob. Oct. 28, 1756 
JEt. 37. 


“ Yes, I have seen it before,” said Madam Winslow, 
returning it with a sigh. “ Poor Lyddy ! Well, child, I 
did n’t come here to-day to talk about myself, nor your 
mother, nor even you, but about my little cousin, Han- 
nah Howland.” 

u Hannah ? What of her, madam ? ” 

“ That ’s what I ’ve come to ask you, my dear. 
What ’s the matter with her ? ” 

“ The matter ? ” 

“ Yes, the matter ! Don’t sit there and stare and go 


304 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


as many manner of colors as if you were a new-landed 
dolphin. You ’re Hannah Howland’s most intimate 
friend, are n’t you ? ” 

“Yes, madam, I love her very dearly.” 

“ And see her all the time, especially now that you 
live next door, as it were, to S’uth’ard’s.” 

“ Yes, I see her very often.” 

“ Well, then, what ’s the matter to make her peak and 
pine and dwindle as she ’s doing ? Is she lovesick ? ” 

“ Hannah Howland is too much of a gentlewoman to 
have such a word fit her.” 

“ Hoity-toity, my young madam ! Set you up for a 
little bantam partlet, indeed ! Abraham Hammatt will 
need look well to himself or he ’ll be bantam-hen- 
pecked ! ” 

“I beg your pardon, madam, if I spoke too hotly, 
but ” — 

“ Oh, I ’m not vexed, mistress. I love to see some 
spirit in you young things, I only wish my niece had 
more. You see, Pris, I ’in fond of the girl, partly be- 
cause her father was my favorite brother, and partly 
because she favors marvelously a picture I used to see 
o’ nights in my looking-glass — don’t quite see it now, 
do you, with your mocking eyes ! ” 

“ Oh, madam,” — 

“Well, ‘ oh, madam,’ be it, only mind you this, Pris- 
cilla LeBaron ! I was sixty-four years old yesterday, 
and the morrow of your sixty-fourth birthday I ’ll come 
at night and look over your shoulder into your mirror, 
your face and mine side by side, and we ’ll see who ’s 
fairest.” 

“ ’T will be forty years and over, madam, before I am 
so old. I think you will forget.” 


A WORM IN THE ROSE-HEART. 305 


“ Oh, no ; I shall be dead, you know, and dead folks 
cmn’t forget. I ’ll be sure to come ! There, there, child, 
don’t turn so white on ’t, perhaps I ’ll have done you a 
mischief, and I ’d be right sorry ” — 

“ No, no — only a sudden certainty came over me 
that I never should see sixty-four ; don’t let us speak of 
it, please, dear madam ! About Hannah ? ” 

“ Yes, about Hannah. Well, I am silly fond over 
the girl, and she ’s in a poor way, as any one may see, 
her father and mother both dead, and her home broken 
up, though S’uth’ard and Abiah have done very well by 
her, very well, considering they ’ve children of their 
own ; but still, I ’ve always felt that Hannah was a good 
deal the chany vase floating along with the earthen 
bean-pots, — you know your iEsop, don’t you, Pris ? And 
the long and the short of it is that I want to take Han- 
nah with me up to the Provinces and make an own 
child of her. My Penelope and Sarah are gone, and I 
am getting old and need a daughter, especially now that 
we ’re driven into exile. It ’s all very well about lib- 
erty and that sort of thing, and you young folks feel 
that wisdom came into the world with you and is going 
out with you, and you ’re bound to make a general stir- 
up while you ’re here, but as for me, I never thought 
I should not lay my bones up there on the Hill with 
father, and mother, and all the Howlands from old Pil- 
grim John, down. ’Sider ’s there, and Ruth, and their 
children, but poor sister Joan and I have got to turn 
our backs on them all and be buried by the Bluenoses ! ” 

She was crying a little now, and Priscilla took up the 
poor, wrinkled little hand with its jewels and its mitt, 
and kissed it. 

“ There, there, never mind, Pris, I don’t want to be 


306 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


pitied, it was n’t what I came for, but I want you to 
talk to Hannah and make her go with me. She ’s told 
you of course that I have asked her ? ” 

“ Yes, she told me.” 

“ And what reason did she give for saying me nay ? 
Tell me now, little Pris ! ” 

But Priscilla, coloring scarlet, only shook her head. 

“ You won’t tell me ? ” 

“ I have nothing to tell, dear madam, but I will 
speak again to Hannah, and see if she is fixed in her 
resolve.” 

“ That ’s a good child ! And come down the hill and 
let me know to-night.” 

“ I will, but I ’m afraid it will only be another nay.” 

u Well, well, I ’m getting old, and it ’s all very 
hard, very hard, and sister Joan says so too ; but 
Gideon White and Edward Winslow hold their heads 
too high up in the air to hear what little women say.” 

An hour later, Priscilla sat in the pretty bedroom, 
with its dormer window looking down the Main Street, 
which Abiah Howland had quietly made pretty for her 
husband’s sister, and where the latter now spent most 
of her time. The two girls sat close together, their 
hands clasped, and talked almost in whispers. 

" Oh, Hannah, dear, do go for a while, at least. All 
this will pass away, and you ’ll laugh at your own 
fancies.” 

“ No, Pris, it ’s no use, no use. I ’m lying under sen- 
tence of death, and I may as well await it here 
as up there in the North. And when I die I ’d like to 
lie on the Hill with my kinsfolk — mother is waiting for 
me.” 

“ Now, Hannah, you ’re just silly, and what ’s worse, 


A WORM IN THE ROSE-HEART. 307 


you ’re wicked to talk that way. It all comes of meeting 
that Ansel Ring, the day you sprained your ankle.” 

“ He ’s never failed to bring me Mayflowers since.” 
And both girls glanced at a dry bunch of Epigaea, hung 
upside down beside the little mirror. 

“ I wish your brother Consider would come home,” 
exclaimed Priscilla, rather sharply. 

“ Why, dear ? ” 

“ Because I ’d tell him all about it, and I ’ll warrant 
he ’d soon put a stop to all these fancies. Mother Crewe 
ought to be shut up in the poorhouse, and Ansel Ring 
thrown overboard in deep water.” 

“ I think, Priscilla, I should like to be alone and rest 
for a while, if you please.” 

“ Oh, yes, get vexed with your best friend, — I would ! 
Nay, child, don’t look so white ! Here, kiss your Pris ; 
remember I ’m a married woman now, and have a right 
to lecture you.” 

“ And I ’m just a peevish, froward child, who ought 
to be lectured. But oh, Pris, oh, Pris, I ’m so wretched, 
and it ’s borne in upon me that I ’m not of the elect, and 
there ’s no hope for me here or hereafter, and I don’t 
dare to die, for fear of what ’s to come, nor I can’t bear 
to live and be tortured. Yes, night and day, night and 
day, I hear that horrible old woman croaking out, ‘ I 
curse you, I curse you both, as I cursed his father and 
mother ! ’ And poor Ansel fell back against a tree, as 
white as death, and crying out, — 

“ ‘ Not her ! Not her ! Don’t curse her ! I ’ll bear it 
all,’ and then I can hear the old witch laugh as she said . 

“ ‘ You ’ll have enough, my fine lad, you ’ll have enough 
of your own ! You ’re the last of their children, and 
the dregs of the cup are for you, — but she ’s too near 


308 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


to you not to get her share ; ’ and then she shook her stick 
at us, and gabbled over her curses, and I — I suppose 
I fainted.” 

“ Fainted ! You should have sent Ansel Ring about 
his business, and come straight home to complain to your 
brothers. I ’ll warrant they would soon have stopped 
her cursing.” 

“ No, no, indeed ! ” exclaimed Hannah, her delicate 
color paling with a new terror. “ S’uth’ard is so violent ; 
and he ’s vexed enough already with mother Crewe, be- 
cause she ’s got her cabin on a piece of his land up there 
toward Carver, you know ” — 

“ Where she ’s always lived. Is that S’uth’ard’s 
land ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, it ’s always been Howland property since old 
grandsir John’s time, and S’uth’ard loves to go and 
stake out the bounds of his land, and says it ought to be 
entailed on his little John ; and mother Crewe always 
comes out and snarls at him when he drives stakes that 
include her cabin, so I would n’t for the world add fuel to 
that fire ; and Consider has gone to sea — did you know 
he and Ansel are in the same ship now ? ” 

“No, why did n’t you tell me? ” 

“ I hate to talk about it, and it is only a few weeks 
since 1 heard.” 

“ Hannah, tell me one thing.” 

“ If I can, Pris.” 

“ Do you really love Ansel Ring, and want to marry 
him? ” 

“No, Pris, I don’t want to marry him.” 

“Then why do you let him hang round you, and meet 
you all the time, and stop and talk with him, and go 
where you know he ’ll find you ? ” 


A WORM IN THE ROSE-HEART. 309 


“ Oh, Priscilla, do you mean that I ’ve been less than 
maidenly ? ” 

“ Why, no, child, it hurts me to have you speak such 
a word. No snow was ever whiter, and no lily more 
delicate, than my Nanny, but the trouble is, dear, that 
you ’re too tender-hearted. This poor fellow loves you 
to distraction, that ’s easy enough to see, but he remem- 
bers, as he should, that you are Miss Howland, daughter 
of one of the best families in the Old Colony, and he ’s a 
poor sailor, with a bad name for his only inheritance, 
and he dare n’t come forward and offer you his love 
openly ; your brothers would make short work of him if 
he did, and yet he can’t let you alone, but haunts the 
woods like a blue jay calling to his mate, and you, as 
tender-hearted as a dove, must go and answer him, and 
answer him, until now mother Crewe has stepped in to 
tie you together with an old-time curse. And there ’s 
Joshua Thomas ” — 

“ Stop, Pris, I won’t hear any more ! ” And Hannah 
started to her feet, the color and light of health flaming 
back into her wan face. “ You mean well, Pris, but 
you are too prosperous and happy yourself to think well 
of what you are saying. No more now, dear, for in- 
deed I am at the end of my strength. By and by I will 
come in to see you and sister Lucy.” 

“ ‘ Sister ’ Lucy ! She ’s more like your mother, with 
seven-and-twenty years between you, and she my 
mother-in-law ! But what am I to say to your aunt 
Winslow ? ” 

“ Oh, I forgot. Tell her as prettily as you can that I 
won’t go. Tell her that I ’m a rebel both to King 
George and her, and she won’t want me.” 

“ There, now, thank the Lord for a little touch of my 


310 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Nanny’s old self ! Well, good-by, my pet, come in soon 
and have some supper with us ; I ’ll make you a dish of 
chocolate, though I cannot give you tea until the patriots 
let us have some. Good lack ! If you go to Halifax 
with your aunt Winslow, you’ll be able to drink as 
much tea as ever you want, and I ’ll lay my head that ’s 
what she ’s going for.” 




o 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

WHAT THE POST-RIDER BROUGHT. 

“ Home for your dinner, Captain Hammatt ? ” 

“Yes, little madam Hammatt. Is it ready, and is 
mere a kiss or two to season it ? ” 

“ Sweets do not suit with meats,” and the young wife 
coquettishly slid from the over-confident arm about to 
encircle her. 

“ Well, here ’s mamma, she always has a kiss for her 
boy ! ” and the young man bent to the soft cheek of the 
mother whom he loved with an historic tenderness. 
“ Come, now, I ’ll tell you both some news,” .continued 
he, gayly ; “ we are a post-town, and are to have an office 
and two riders, and pay postage to the Continental gov- 
ernment, and become a very important place. Mamma, 
you can write to my brother William every week, if you 
like, and Pris will do nothing but scribble sheets of 
foolscap to Sally Sever. Oh, it ’s marvelous to see how 
the world grows, is n’t it, Pris ? ” 

“ Marvelous,” replied Pris, dryly, “ only I heard the 
news a week ago in a secret from Eliza Watson, whose 
father is to be postmaster.” 

“ William Watson postmaster ? ” inquired Lucy Ham- 
matt, “ well, that ’s a good choice ; he comes of the old 
stock, and married with the Marstons of Salem.” 

“ No doubt it was for his pedigree that he was se* 


812 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


lected, madam,” replied Abraham, gravely, for in spite 
of his Howland blood, the grandson of the Cornish 
squire had never quite risen up to the dignity of “ May- 
flower descent.” 

“ Well, tell us all about it, Abe,” interposed Priscilla, 
hastily, and he, pausing only to kiss his mother’s wrinkled 
pretty hand, replied, — 

“ Oh, you want coals brought to Newcastle, do you ? 
Very well, then, let me inform you that the Provincial 
Congress, now sitting at Philadelphia, has established a 
mail-route from Cambridge, through Plymouth and 
Sandwich, to Falmouth. It will be run once every week, 
and, as you know, William Watson, Esq., is the post- 
master, and will have the office in his own house, so 
that you can keep an eye upon it without any trouble. 
Timothy Goodwin and Joseph Howland are to be the 
post-riders, and the charge on each letter will be six- 
and-eightpence, so, my dear Pris, I beg you not to write 
every week to your friend Sally. There, my dear, have 
I told you all that you knew before ? ” 

“ All, except that the postmaster may send letters free 
for himself and family, and Eliza will forward all my 
letters marked ‘ Paid ’ and cost me nothing,” replied 
Priscilla triumphantly, but her husband shook his head. 

“ Nay, wife, that ’s not honest, and I ’ll not have it. 
Our government needs money to carry on the war, and 
this is one means of raising it. Let the Tories cheat if 
they will, for deceit is the refuge of the weak, but I 
and my house call ourselves patriots, don’t we ? ” 

“ But six-and-eightpence is a good deal of money,” 
murmured Priscilla, rebelliously, while the mother looked 
proudly up in her son’s face. 

“ A good deal more than your and Sally’s letters are 


WHAT THE POST-RIDER BROUGHT. 313 


worth, I dare say,” retorted he, pulling his wife’s ear, 
“ so you will have to send them by private hand as you 
always have done. As for mamma, I know that Bill 
will always be glad to pay the postage on a letter from 
her.” 

“ I have good sons,” replied madam Hammatt, quietly, 
and the captain whispered something in his wife’s ear 
that made her laugh and blush. 

Other people as well as the Hammatts were interested 
in the new post-office, and when, a few days later, 
Joseph Howland, galloping his horse into town, dis- 
mounted at the door of the new office with the dignity 
and importance of a government courier, and extracting 
a small package of mail-matter from his saddle-bags 
handed it to Mr. Postmaster Watson, who ceremoniously 
received it and withdrew to the recesses of the private 
office, an admiring crowd of townsmen silently assisted 
at the function, while not only the Hammatt’s, but the 
S’uth’ard Howland’s, the Warren’s, the Lothrop’s, the 
Hovey’s, in fact, every window commanding the scene 
of action, was crowded with feminine spectators. 

Simeon Samson was among the crowd, and felt an un- 
expected sprig added to his budding laurels when Mr. 
Watson, appearing at the little window of his office, 
benignantly announced, — 

“ A letter for you, Captain Samson, and marked pre- 
paid, but as it ’s in a woman’s hand I doubt but there 
was some hugger-muggery with the postmaster’s wife or 
daughter. Here ’t is.” 

“ It ’s well she paid it somehow,” retorted the captain, 
holding out his hand for the odd-looking missive, “ since 
there ’s no woman out of Plymouth whose letter would 
be worth six-and-eightpence to me.” 


314 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ How much will you pay, captain, to have me report 
that dutiful saying to your wife ? ” asked Nathaniel 
Goodwin, jovially. 

“ My old grandsir, Myles Standish, said, ‘ If you ’ll 
be well served, serve yourself,’ so I ’ll go do my own 
errand, and let my wife open the letter into the bar- 
gain ; ” and turning down Middle Street, or as they still 
called it sometimes King Street, Simeon reached the old 
gray house, and stepped, as you may do to-day, directly 
from the street into the little dusky hall. A door lay 
at either hand, and across the whole back of the house 
extended a charming kitchen such as notable housewives 
like Deborah loved to beautify and decorate with substan- 
tial ornaments like strings of dried apples, and onions, 
and bunches of herbs, and patchwork cushions upon the 
high-backed settle and the big armchair and the low 
window-seats. No labor-saving device such as painted 
floors, or oil-cloths, or even hard-wood boards were to 
be seen in such kitchens as these, but clean, wide boards 
of soft pine, free from knot or twist, were scrubbed to 
a dazzling whiteness, and then covered with sand as 
white, carefully marked by a broom into various ornamen- 
tal patterns such as herring-bone, waves, shells, or even 
“ posy-beds,” but this last elaboration only where there 
were no children. 

In such a kitchen Simeon Samson now found his 
wife busily spinning the yarn for his winter stockings 
on a great wheel whose sharp whir mingled pleasantly 
with her contralto voice as she sang a ditty of her day. 
Her husband, with a hand upon the latch, paused to 
listen with a smile all over his merry face. 

“ O maiden, can you make me a cambric shirt, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 


WHAT THE POST-RIDER BROUGHT 315 


Without any seam or needlework ? 

And you shall be a true love of mine. 

“ Can you wash it then in yonder well, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

Where never sprung water nor rain ever fell ? 

And you shall be a true love of mine. 

“ Can you dry it well on yonder thorn, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

Which died before ever Adam was horn ? 

And you shall be a true love of mine.” 

“ Now, sir, you ’ve asked me questions three, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

I hope you ’ll answer as many for me, 

And you shall be a true love of mine. 

“ Can you find me an acre of land, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

Between the salt water and the sea sand ? 

And you shall be a true love of mine. 

“ Can you plough it with a ram’s horn, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

And sow it all over with one peppercorn ? 

And you shall he a true love of mine. 

“ Can you reap it with a sickle of leather, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

And hind it up with a peacock’s feather ? 

And you shall be a true love of mine. 

“ When you have done and finished your work, 

Parsley and sage grow ripe in time, 

Then come to me for your cambric shirt, 

And you shall be a true love of mine.” 

u Well done, dame ! Where did you get that ballad ? ” 
demanded Samson, pulling open the door and disclosing 


316 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


a pretty picture. The three western windows of the 
kitchen, open to the sweet June air and sunshine, looked 
upon a garden rich in all the hearty bloom of early 
summer and gay with bees and butterflies, although the 
larger space was devoted to such useful matters as 
beets, onions, carrots, and pot-herbs of various sorts, 
while across the windows were trained hop-vines, whose 
fruit would be brewed into beer, diet-drink, and other 
compounds. Meantime the leaves made merry dan- 
cing shadows on the sanded floor, and gave occupation 
to the tortoise-shell kitten who tried to capture them. 
The spinning wheel was drawn into the middle of the 
great room, and the spinner, pacing up and down as she 
drew her thread, fine and even and well twisted as any 
spun in Plymouth, displayed to advantage her nobly- 
moulded figure and grand freedom of motion, while the 
dark face turned over her shoulder toward the opening 
door was lighted into beauty by a smile showing won- 
derfully white and even teeth. 

“ Learned it, Sim ? Why, I always knew it,” replied 
she. “ Are you looking for your supper at this hour, 
sir ? ” 

“ No. I have brought you a letter out of the first 
post-package ever come into Plymouth.” 

“ Oh, yes ; Mary Foster told me this morning over 
the garden fence that the post-rider was expected to-day. 
And there ’s a letter for me ? ” 

“ No, for me ; but lest you be jealous you shall have 
the first reading of it.” 

“ I jealous ! There never was a woman since Eve 
with less disposition that way.” 

“ Well, open the letter and tell me who it ’s from, or 
I ’ll take it back and look for myself.” 


WHAT THE POST-RIDER BROUGHT. 317 


t( That you sha’n’t ! ” exclaimed Deborah, evading the 
playful snatch of her husband’s hand, and raising the 
scissors swinging at her side she carefully cut around 
the great splotch of red wafer fastening the letter, and 
seating herself in the splint-bottomed chair beside her 
work-basket slowly opened the sheet of coarse foolscap 
paper and turned at once to the signature, — 

“ Your loving cousin, Deborah Samson.” 

“ And who is this loving cousin, if you please, Captain 
Samson ? I for one never heard of her.” 

“Nor I — and yet, yes, I remember now that Dr. 
LeBaron told me a sad tale of my far-off cousin Jona- 
than’s widow and children left destitute at his death, 
and there was in especial a little Deborah ” — 

“ How old a little Deborah ? ” 

“ Some five or six years old at that time, you jealous- 
pate.” 

“ Well, well, we ’ll read the letter.” 

“Yes, that seems a tolerable way of getting at its 
meaning.” 

And the captain, throwing his leg over the corner of 
the table, teased the kitten with the shadow of his foot. 

“ ‘ My dear cousin,’ and a fair enough hand she 
writes, to be sure. ‘Haply you never have heard of 
me, but I have of you, and now I hear that the Con- 
gress has made you a captain of the navy and set you 
to build a ship wherein to fight for our liberties. I am 
a patriot too, though I be but a girl, and only the last 
month I stood on the high hill behind our house and 
heard the sound of the cannon on Bunker’s Hill when 
our brave Warren and the rest drove the British red- 
coats out of their intrenchments. I could not tell how 
the day was going, but there on the hillside I fell on 


318 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


my knees and swore to God that if He would give my 
people the victory I would serve Him all the rest of my 
life, and so I will. Cousin, I write to you to offer my- 
self as a sailor on board your new ship, the Independent. 
I am a tall, strapping lass, five foot seven and a half 
inches high, and as strong as a man. I love the sea, 
for you know that my forbears were sailors all, and in 
his extremity my father was glad to bury himself be- 
neath it. I will put on men’s clothes and meet you at 
any port you can mention, and I will be a good, obedi- 
ent, faithful sailor, never telling who I am or that I am 
kin to you, nor asking more than a nod or a word now 
and again just to let me know some one cares for me. ’ ” 
So far Deborah read, and letting the paper fall upon 
her lap raised both her hands in horror. 

“ Put on man’s clothes and be a sailor in your ship, 
and you to give her a kind word now and again ! Sim- 
eon Samson, do you mean to tell me that you will en- 
courage such doings as those ? ” 

“ Don’t you think it ’s a pretty good idea ? ” demanded 
the captain, teasingly. “ A girl of spirit, that, and ” — 
“ Take your letter and finish it yourself — it ’s not 
fit for a decent woman to read.” 

“ Tut, tut, mistress ! That ’s no way to talk of a poor 
little kinswoman who knows no better than to lay such 
schemes. It ’s you that should know better than to 
heed them ; no, you sha’n’t run away — sit you right 
here upon my knee and we ’ll read the rest of it together. 
Come, now, Deb, I mean it, and you ’ll have to give in, 
as well soon as late.” 

k< Let me read, then, for you ’ll be slurring over the 
worst of it.” 

“ Read if you like, but the worst on ’t so far is your 
own folly. Read away.” 


WHAT THE POST- RIDER BROUGHT. 319 


“ ‘ I am but young yet, no more than sixteen, but 
strong and stout. I live with Deacon Jeremiah Thomas 
here in Middleborough and work too hard by spells, 
thbugh they are kind enough to me. I feed the pigs 
and poultry, and milk two cows, and spin and weave and 
do the work of the house, and last winter I taught the 
village school so as to get time to study for myself, for 
they hate to see me with a book here in the house, and 
I have a longing desire to learn, and to know something 
more than pigs and poultry. The deacon gets a news- 
paper now and again from the minister, and when he 
does I read every word of it, and I listen with both my 
ears to all the men’s talk that I hear, so I do know a 
good deal, for all I ’m so ignorant.’ ” 

“ What a fool’s speech that is, ‘ I know a good deal, 
though I ’m so ignorant,’ ” interrupted Deborah, spite- 
fully. 

“ I understand her,” replied Simeon, briefly, and tak- 
ing the letter he went on : — 

“ ‘ I got lots of time in the school for myself, for 
there isn’t much to teach. We have the New England 
Primer, and there are a few spelling-books, and the 
New Testament to read in ; and two or three of the 
boys learned to write, and had paper and pen and ink, 
so that ’s how I learned myself and got the things ; and 
I taught the girls to knit and sew and do samplers ; and 
there was n’t a boy in the school I could n’t flog, and I 
did it too, so that made them very quiet while I was 
studying ; and the minister lent me books. I like to 
read about battles and sea-fights and heroes, and I think 
you must be a hero, cousin Simeon, and I want to go in 
your ship and fight the British and live and die for my 
country. Please write and answer this ; you need not 


320 DR. LeBARON and eis daughters. 


pay any postage, for Reuben Thomas is courting the 
postmaster’s daughter in Abington, and he goes over 
every Sunday night to set up with her, and she ’ll send 
my letters for nothing ; so no more at present from 
“ ‘ Your loving cousin, 

“ ‘ Deborah Samson/ ” 

“ There, now ! what do you say to that, Captain Sam- 
son ? ” demanded Deborah, as her husband released her 
waist and folded up his letter with a provoking sort of 
smile upon his face. 

“ I say that Deborah Samson is a simple sort of crea- 
ture : one of her name talks like a fool, and t’other lis- 
tens to her like a fool.” 

And with this pithy if somewhat rough verdict the 
captain got up, filled and lighted his pipe, and went to 
smoke it at the front door, while Deborah very energet- 
ically began to prepare supper. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


A PRIVATE LOG. 

The Independence was completed, was afloat, and in 
commission. Captain Samson, glorious in a new uni- 
form and a maiden sword, tenderly kissed his wife 
good-by, and with the kiss committed to her guardian- 
ship those gentler and tenderer traits of his nature for 
which he expected to have small occasion in the life of 
a naval commander. 

A boat manned by sailors trained in the British navy, 
but driven by cruelty and hardship from her service, soon 
set their new commander aboard the brigantine, and 
as he reached the quarter deck, and removing his cocked 
hat, saluted the Continental colors waving above his 
head, the dense crowd of Kingston and Plymouth men 
thronging Cole’s Hill, the wharves, and the shipping in 
both harbors, sent up a mighty shout of cheer and 
promise, while from window and housetop fluttered the 
kerchiefs and scarves of the women, and from the flag- 
staff upon the captain’s own house flew out the banner 
his wife Deborah’s fingers had spun, and dyed, and 
woven, and sewed, and which that very morning she 
had laid in her husband’s hands with brave words whose 
strength was in no wise lessened by the tear in her eye, 
or the tremor in her voice. 

“It shall wave at the peak, Simeon, for your return, 
or it shall wave half mast for your glorious death.” 


322 DR . LeBARON and his daughters. 


It was then that he kissed her. 

But now, as he ordered his new ordnance to fire a 
triple salute, and his unworn flag to thrice dip in cour- 
teous response to that thunderous shout, it was not for 
Deborah and her fluttering kerchief, not even for her 
patriotic banner that he looked, nor of them he thought. 
It was to those hundreds of brother men, every one of 
them ready as he to die for their common country, it 
was to Kingston his cradle, and Plymouth the home of 
his manhood that his glistening eyes turned, and his 
cheek grew white as, clenching the hilt of his sword, he 
muttered low : — 

“ For God and my country — in life or death ! ” 

Then as a small cold wind straight from Burying 
Hill filled the new sails of the warship, she made her 
stately way out of the harbor and past the Gurnet, where 
the breeze failed her, and she lay becalmed within hail 
of a small schooner, belonging, as the Plymouth men 
knew, to Edward Winslow, who had been in it to New 
York to arrange plans for his removal thither, should 
the rebel cause meet with the unaccountable success that 
seemed now possible. 

“ Our first prize, Captain,” remarked Lieutenant 
Dyer, confidentially, as the British ensign rose defiantly 
to the mast-head of the schooner, and Edward Winslow 
with his brother-in-law, Gideon White, stood on the 
deck. 

“ Hail her, Lieutenant,” was the brief response, and 
Dyer obeyed with alacrity. 

“ What schooner is that ? ” 

“ Schooner Loyal, of His Majesty’s town of Plymouth 
and Colony of Massachusetts, and bound to that port. 
What brigantine is that ? ” 


A PRIVATE LOG. 323 

“ Independence, armed privateer of the Province of 
Massachusetts Bay.” 

“ Do not know any such power. Is it at war with 
Great Britain ? ” 

“ It wars only upon its open enemies, and hopes no 
Plymouth men are to be found among them,” replied 
Samson, and taking off his hat, he bowed courteously in 
token of farewell. Winslow silently returned the salute, 
but Gideon White, who could not yet seriously accept 
the idea of Whig authority or dignity, seized the trum- 
pet from Winslow’s hand and roared : — 

“ If you see my son Gideon up yonder, give him my 
remembrance, and ask him to bring down a king’s 
sloop, to clear these waters of picaroons.” 

“ If I see him, I ’ll give him a free passage home in a 
patriot brigantine, Mr. White,” retorted Samson, and 
so the vessels, drifting with the tide, got out of hail, prob- 
ably to their mutual satisfaction. 

About six weeks later the Independence, cruising off 
Liverpool, Nova Scotia, ran across a fisherman from 
whom the captain gained certain interesting particulars 
as to the occupation of the town, resulting in a very suc- 
cessful midnight surprise, by which an armed boat’s crew 
of the Independence, headed by the captain in person, 
captured or destroyed a quantity of military supplies 
waiting at Liverpool for transport to Halifax, and seized 
in his bed, or hardly out of it, a young gentleman, to 
whom the captain grimly remarked : — 

“ Gideon, you are my prisoner ! I promised your 
father, not six weeks ago, that I would bring you home, 
but really I did n’t look for so quick a chance.” 

“ Your turn to-day, Samson, mine to-morrow,” replied 
the gallant young fellow, quietly. “ I hope I may put 
on some clothes.” 


324 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ Put on as many as you will, and show these men 
your boxes and bags. ’T would be a pity to leave your 
London breeches behind you,” replied the captain. And 
so it came to pass that when, after sending in a few 
prizes, the Independence ran into Plymouth to report 
herself and procure some fresh provision, Gideon junior 
was handed over to the Committee of Safety, who im- 
prisoned him for a while; and then as all the women, 
both Whig and Tory, made a pother about the shame 
and sin of keeping the handsomest youth of the Colony 
in confinement, or “ in a dungeon,” as they called it, 
he was released on parole, and lived at his father’s 
home on Main Street (now replaced by the Engine 
House) until his final departure for Nova Scotia, where 
his descendants may still be found, and still are con- 
temptuous of Whig authority or dignity. 

But the most memorable cruise of the Independence, 
and one of which we have the fullest detail, is that whose 
record is kept by Henry Goodwin, son of Doctor Lazarus 
LeBaron’s daughter Hannah, who married Benjamin 
Goodwin, brother of her sister Lydia’s husband, Nathan- 
iel. 

It lies before us, the little tattered, blurred, fragmen- 
tary book, actual part of the Independence, telling so 
much and withholding so much, its pages vitalized by the 
hand of the writer as it passed across their surfaces and 
left between the lines a record impossible to transcribe, 
and yet containing the true essence of the story. The 
words themselves are crude, artless, and unlearned, 
and yet so much more eloquent than one can write 
at this distance of time that we will have them just 
as they stand, and bridge for ourselves the gaps they 
leave. 


A PRIVATE LOG. 


825 


“ October y e 20 th 1778 

“ This Day being fine Weather, at 10 o’clock A. M. we 
took our Departure from Plimouth. At 3 p. m. lost 
Sight of the Gurnet. At 5 o’clock p. m. lost sight of 
Cape Cod and this hour we lose sight of Land. 

“ Nothing worth Remark happening the Six Days fol- 
lowing, & no Saile appearing. 

“ The next Day being Sunday y e 27 th early in y e Morn- 
ing we Descry’d a Sail under our Lee and gave her 
Chase and come up with her very fast. At 1 P. M. we 
crouding sail and shaking the Reefs out of the topsails 
we Carry’d away our foretopmast and All went over the 
Side, the Chase discovering that Accident threw out a 
Red Ensign and firing a Gun to Leeward, put away be- 
fore the Wind & showing herself to us very plain we 
discover’d her to be a Bark. All this time All Hands 
employ’d at clearing the Rigging & getting our spare 
Topmast on End. At Night we lost sight of her. This 
night some of our Men employed in getting the Top- 
mast and Rigging in Order fell overboard but soon 
were reskwed and the next Day being Monday the 28 th 
of October we got our new Topmast on End nothing Re- 
markable happening and no Sail appearing.” 

A week of fishing and shooting wild fowl, killing a 
sheej), and coasting the Banks of Newfoundland ensues, 
and then, on “ Monday y e 4 th of November, we saw sev- 
eral sail & spoke with a Brigantine which belonged to 
Aver de Grace , she being French Property we parted 
with her. There being several Sail in Sight, we gave 
Chase to the Nighest & in a short time come Up with 
Her, She being a Brigantine from Placentia in New- 
foundland bound to Waterford in Ireland with 90 Pas- 
sengers aboard, her cargo consisting chiefly in Train Oil 


326 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


and Blubber. She is reckoned to be worth Twenty-Five 
Thousand Dollars. The first Day She come out of Pla- 
centia she was Intercepted and taken by the Arm’d 
Schooner Ranger Commanded by John Churchill from 
Newbury, who put his Lieutenant as Prize Master and 
8 others on Board, and intended to keep Company with 
her, but Parting in a Gale of Wind the Passengers Rose 
took her and alter’d her Course for Waterford, the 
Original Mate taking charge of her.” 

And just here one must lay down the little sea-worn, 
tattered book to wonder if Henry Goodwin felt all the 
force of his simple narrative. Ninety wild Irishmen 
held prisoner and carried whither they would not, by a 
prize crew of eight Newbury yeomen, and their insurrec- 
tion in the midst of the storm, and the “ Original Mate ” 
changing place with the defeated prize master and lay- 
ing her course joyfully for Waterford again ! And then 
the Independence, flying that new and untried flag, com- 
ing to the rescue and reversing again the order of defeat 
and success ! 

Well, perhaps the surgeon’s mate knew it all and did 
not say it ; perhaps of all of it he was a part, and yet 
saw only the husk ; at any rate, he makes no comment 
and calmly goes on : — 

“We put several men on board the Prize & kept Com- 
pany with Her the Wind blowing Very Hard this Night 
& next Day nothing Remarkable could be transacted ; 
the 6 th inst being Calm we brought all the former Cap- 
tors on board, 10 of the Passengers and Mate which 
were the first that rose, and put a Prize Master and 18 
men aboard the Prize. This Day we finish’d the Business, 
the Prize Master having Orders to keep by us till further 
Orders. The 7 th being a very pleasant Day, toward 


A PRIVATE LOG . 


327 


Night we discry’d a sail under our Lee and gave Chase 
hoping to speak with Her in the Morning but were Dis- 
appointed no Sail appearing in the Morning except our 
Prize within Hail. 

“ Nov. 9 th We lost sight of our Prize she having rec’d 
Orders to proceed for the first Convenient Port in the 
State of the Massachusetts Bay.” 

Let us here interpolate that the “ Prize ” duly arrived 
at Boston, and that the captain and crew of the Inde- 
pendence duly received their share of the prize-money. 

Next comes a bit of sea fun. 

“At 7 A. m. we discover’d a Sail and went after her, 
at 11 A. m. come up with her. She proved to be a 
French Schooner from St. Peters bound to St. Malos 
loaded with Fish. We hoysted out our Yawl, and Lieut. 
Dyer went aboard and sent the Capt. and Owner Aboard 
the Independence, the Frenchmen thinking Us to be one 
of His Majesty’s Arm’d Vessels. After they had been 
on Board some Time we hoysted Continental Colours 
which Undeceived Them. They appeared to be very 
much Rejoyc’d. After much perswasion they Consented 
to take 3 of the Prisoners that come out of the Brig ne 
Aboard.” 

After this came many days of more or less adventure, 
for the Independence in her seven months’ service cap- 
tured and sent in five prizes, one of them the Roebuck, 
Captain White. 

But the bravest ships, the bravest men, must die. 
Fortune of war, brave hearts of oak, and a noble end 
that comes in the midst of noble strife ! 

The twenty-fifth day of November, only a month 
from the day she lost sight of the Gurnet, the Indepen- 
dence, while chasing a British sloop which was to have 


328 DR LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


been her sixth prize, came upon u two Saile about 5 
points on our Lee Bow. We then left the Sloop and 
Bore Away, crouding all the Sail we Possibly cou’d. 
We raised them fast, and soon Discover’d them Plain 
from the Deck, and found them to be a Ship and a 
Brigantine. Then says our Noble Captain, ‘ I believe 
the Ship to be a Transport & what the Brig ne is I can’t 
discover, but prepare yourselves for an Ingagement, and 
we ’ll see what they are made of.’ 

“We made ready & soon see they were also for In- 
gaging, haul’d up their Courses and Lay too for us to 
come up. We first come up with the Brig ne within 
Pistol shot, we hoysted Continental Colours they Im- 
mediately hoysted St. George’s Jack and give us a Gun, 
for which we gave her a broadside. After that it was 
broadside for broadside for two glasses ” (hour-glasses) 
“ upon which the Ship seeing we were like to be more 
than a match for the Brigantine come up upon our 
Quarter with 16 Six Pounders and a hundred and forty 
soldiers.” 

Then followed an incident which the discreet surgeon 
does not mention, fearing perhaps to bring his “ Noble 
Captain ” into trouble, but which the newspapers of the 
day related with stern approval. 

When the heavily armed and manned transport 
Nancy came up to reenforce the Hope, commanded by 
that gallant George Dawson whose many successes had 
made him a little too skeptical of Yankee skill and valor, 
some of the men of the Independence, overborne by that 
terrific two hours’ combat, shrunk from encountering a 
fresh foe and murmured at their guns. 

Samson, who, covered with smoke of gunpowder and 
blood of half-staunched wounds, was everywhere, heart- 


A PRIVATE LOG. 


329 


ening, helping, cheering on his men, heard and saw the 
dismay, and with a bound stood beside the mutineers. 

“ What ’s that, you coward ! Strike the flag ! Hark 
y’, my fine fellow, death from the enemy is possible, 
but death from my own hand is certain, unless you turn 
to with a will. Train that gun for ’ad ! You heard the 
order ! ” 

Beneath the captain’s eye and the muzzle of the cap- 
tain’s pistol the mutineers succumbed and began to obey 
the order, when the Nancy, bringing up on the starboard 
quarter, poured in a broadside, whose shot actually 
crossed the course of those still spasmodically fired by 
the Hope. 

“ It ’s all over now — run for your lives ! ” shouted a 
coward holding commission as third lieutenant of the 
Independence, and bounded toward the companion way, 
where he was met by his captain, who, having fired his 
pistol at an Englishman, tore his sword from its scab- 
bard and received the flying traitor upon its point. 
With a shriek the poor wretch threw up his arms and 
fell dead, and a sailor who followed him met the same 
fate. 

“ Seize him ! Give him up and haul down the flag ! ” 
yelled another mutineer, and again the sword flashed 
and fell, and the livid face and blazing eyes of the com- 
mander turned upon the wavering knot of those who 
followed. 

“ As sure as God ’s in heaven I ’ll lay you all beside 
’em unless you turn to,” shouted he, flourishing that 
dripping sword above his head ; and, more afraid of him 
than of the British, the men raised a fickle shout of 
loyalty and turned to their work. Dawson, mounted on 
the taffrail of the Hope, saw it all, and the pistol cover- 
ing Samson’s head dropped at his enemy’s side. 


330 DR. LeBARON and his da ughters. 


“ What a hero lost to the British navy ! ” exclaimed 
he to his first lieutenant. 

“ You might bring him over in pieces, but never alive,” 
replied that officer. 

And so for another hour the battle raged, the Hope on 
the one side and the Nancy on the other pouring in 
broadside after broadside, until as the latter came creep- 
ing up to board, Samson, looking around upon his hag- 
gard and exhausted men, and hearing the gunners re- 
port that certain guns were too hot to fire and the 
ammunition of others was running low, set his teeth 
in the mightiest struggle of all that day, and gave the 
order to make sail and bear away. 

“ Up with your helm, steersman,” repeated he, im- 
patient that the order seemed of no avail, and turning 
to the wheel he found the man, a blithe young Plym- 
outh fellow, hanging across it dead. Another took his 
place, and the spokes turned, but with no result ; the 
masts, sails, and rigging were so riddled with shot that 
it was impossible to make sail, and like a wounded bird 
the Independence could only feebly flutter her wings, 
but fly no more. 

“ We can’t get way upon the brigantine, Captain, with- 
out new rigging,” reported the sailing master, quietly, 
and the first lieutenant, clinging to the breech of a gun 
because he could not stand on a broken leg, gasped : — 

“ For God’s sake, Captain, don’t throw away these 
men’s lives ! The boarders will be upon us in a mo- 
ment, and there ’s nobody left to repel them.” 

And from the captain’s breast burst such a groan that 
they who heard it told it with awe to their children and 
their children’s children. 

“ Must we strike our flag, Dyer ? ” 


A PRIVATE LOG. 


331 


“ For the sake of these men, Captain.” 

“ Why did n’t they shoot me first ! ” 

“ Quick, Captain ! ” And as the Nancy ranged up on 
the weather quarter, with the evident intention of lock- 
ing her yard-arms with those of the Independence, and 
so pouring in her troops, the lieutenant fell swooning 
from the gun, and Samson, white as death, could only 
signal with his bloody sword to the men at the signal 
halliards. 

Down came the Continental colors, and the Nancy, 
with three men at the wheel, glided harmlessly past the 
side of the Independence, while a shout of triumph 
went up from the decks of the ship, but was immedi- 
ately repressed by orders from Dawson himself. 

A few moments later the two heroes stood face to 
face and curiously eyed each other. 

“ Captain Samson, I am proud to be your host,” 
said the English officer, extending his hand. “ I never 
saw a ship better worked, or an engagement more 
bravely fought.” 

“ And yet, sir, my sword is yours,” replied Samson, 
bitterly, as he unbuckled and presented it. 

“ No, Captain, no,” returned Dawson ; “a man who can 
use a sword as you have should never be without one.” 

“Thank you, Captain Dawson. If I must be con- 
quered I had rather yield to you than any man alive.” 

Would you like to see that sword ? It lies in Pilgrim 
Hall in old Plymouth, with its ancestor, the sword of 
Myles Standish. 

So ended what has been called “ an engagement of as 
severe and bloody a character as is recorded in the an- 
nals of naval warfare. Had Captain Samson been sus- 
tained by all his men, be would undoubtedly have been 


332 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


the conqueror rather than the vanquished, and his skill 
and intrepidity were applauded even by his enemies.” 

Let us hope that applause and the company of his 
sword were a solace to the vanquished hero during his 
seven months’ imprisonment at Fort Cumberland, Hali- 
fax, Nova Scotia. That he diverted himself during a 
part of the time is proven by an elaborately carved 
clock-case which he wrought and brought home as a 
present to his wife. Probably there was no Th^rese at 
Fort Cumberland, or perhaps sixteen years of active 
service had told upon the captain’s face ; at any rate, he 
remained a prisoner until the beginning of July, 1777, 
when he was exchanged, and returned home to take 
command of the States’ armed brig, Hazard. But let 
us know a little more of the fate of the Independence 
and her crew. 

“We soon found that the Nancy was bound to Fort 
Cumberland, Nova Scotia, where we were all carried 
Except those Kill’d in the Ingagement two of which 
was Seth Doten and Benj n Sparrow. This woful Night 
our people were All Dispers’d, some on board the ship, 
and some on board the Brigantine but all were carried 
from the Independence except Dr. Cutting myself, the 
wounded and a few men to attend us. Two of our 
wounded died of their wounds at Fort Cumberland at 
which place we were all order’d on board the Frigate 
Lizard to go to Annapolis and from there to Hallifax 
but when she saw the Distres’t Condition two of our 
wounded were in, (the rest by this time were in a very 
good way) she Refus’d taking them on Board, so they 
stay’d behind.” 

Here a few pages of the time-worn manuscript are 
lost, but it is evident that, leaving Samson and the dying 


A PRIVATE LOG. 


333 


men at Fort Cumberland, the surgeon’s assistant, some 
of the prisoners, and a prize crew, with the Indepen- 
dence, were carried to Annapolis, and thence set sail for 
Halifax in their own vessel, but under escort of a British 
brigantine. 

Dr. Goodwin goes on : — 

“ As we came out of Annapolis the Wind began to 
Increase and about sunset we were obliged to shorten 
sail, and about sunset the wind at N. increased to such 
a digree that the Brigan ne in Company with us hove 
to, and disired us to Do the Same. But our Prize 
Master not being Acquainted with our Brigantine feared 
she would founder and for that Reason kept her Before 
the Wind. It Blew Exceeding hard. The Next Morn- 
ing we were all again surpriz’d at the Cry of Fire we 
found our Hold fill’d with Smoke and upon Examina- 
tion found a Hole in our Galley Hearth where the Fyre 
had got through into some wood. The decks were then 
filled with Ice under which we were all of a Blaze ! 
Good God what a Situation we were in ! Yesterday 
morning we Expected every moment to Perish in the 
Water this morning we Expected to Perish in the 
Fire. The wind continuing the same way for two days 
with Equel Velocity our Prize Master on the 3 d day 
which was more Moderate Concluded to make Sail & 
put away for the West Indies ; all were agreed to it 
except ten prisoners who were taken in a small schooner 
belonging to Plymouth, Commanded by Captain Hatch. 
They were all Plymouth men, and fearing they should 
be in the Enemy’s Hands longer than if they went to 
Hallifax, (now we took them at Annapolis to carry 
there, for a Cartel was then waiting at Hallifax for them 
and us) they Petittion’d to make trial to Beat on again 


334 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


but they were not heard. Accordingly without any 
farther Ceremony we made the Best of our way toward 
Antigua ; we being very short of water were put upon 
Allowance of 3 Pints per Day upon which we Made 
Out very well. Nothing remarkable Happen’d until we 
came up with Bermoodas when we saw a Sloop to the 
windward about 8 o’ clock A. m. the Prisoners were 
then wrapt in Silent Expectation of her being an Ameri- 
can Privateer. Our Prize Master bore away, made all 
the Sail he possibly could but she came up with us 
very fast and almost within cannon-shot but as we Sup- 
poz’d she then saw we were built war like & fear’d to 
Ingage so our Expectations of being re-taken were. 
Sadly Cut off. After this we saw but 2 or 3 Sail until 
the 23 of January. We were then in the Lat. of about 
22 or 3 and about 10 o’clock A. m. we saw a large 
Ship to the Windward and a Schooner to the Leeward, 
We soon saw the Ship bareing down upon us, and the 
Schooner standing the same way we were by the Wind 
we were all Inclin’d to think that the Ship was an Eng- 
lish Man of War and the Schooner her Tender. They 
Both seem’d Eager to speak with Us but our Prize 
Master declin’d having anything to say to Either of 
them if he Could Avoid it. However as the Fates or- 
dered it the wind almost Died away about 4 or 5 o’ clock 
p. m. By this Time the Ship had got within about 3 
Leagues we fearing to run from her lest the Schooner 
should Catch us stood upon our Course but we all kept 
our Eyes steadily Fix’d on the ship watching her 
Motions and soon saw a very fine-looking Barge come 
from her toward us. We then hove too and waited for 
her to come up. She came within Hale of us and we 
discover’d the Gold Laced Hats of the Officers their 


A PRIVATE LOG. 


335 


Swords &c and the Peoples Dutch caps. We haled 
them & they immediately answering ask’d who we were. 
Our Master Told them & ask’d what ship’s Boat that 
was ; they say’d it was the Simater’s, Man-of-W ar from 
Antigua and ordered to make Toward the ship as fast as 
Possible. We accordingly did for the wind sprang in 
our favour so that we came along-side of her just after 
Dark. She then discover’d herself to us & proved to 
Be the Boston, privateer Mounting 25 carriage guns, 
besides Swivels, Cohorns, etc. They gave orders to 
strike our (British) colours and heave to which we ac- 
cordingly did. They then Sent for our Master and his 
own people to come on board the Ship and sent us an- 
other Master and ships Company on board that night. 
The next day Capt. Brown the Commander of the Ship 
seeing we Sail’d exceeding fast and Look’d very warlike 
all excepting the want of guns (now our guns were all 
Left at Fort Cumberland so that we were in a Defence- 
less Situation) the Captain Concluded to put some Guns 
on board and Everything Necessary to fit us for a Pri- 
vateer and keep us for his Tender. He accordingly did, 
& appointed Mr. Jeremy Hagerty our Commander. I 
was then desir’d to Act as Surgeon of her a Circum- 
stance which was of Advantage to our two wounded 
Men which were in a fine way & almost well but that 
my Medicines were Exhausted and a fresh supply was 
Necessary which I now had from the Ship. 

“ We gave Chase after this to several Sail but they all 
proved French, Spanish, or American friends until 
About the 6 th of August we came acrost a Brigantine 
from London. We readily agreed to send her in and 
Mr. Hagerty our Master was Ordered to take Charge 
of her and Mr. Stoughton Lieutenant of the Ship took 
the command of the Independence.” 


336 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


And so we leave the regained Independence with its 
merry surgeon, only wishing he had continued his jour- 
nal until his return home, which we know took place, 
for three years later he was married . 1 

1 See note in Appendix. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


PARSON HOVEY. T. FOR ’t IS, AND T. FOR ’T IS N’T. 

But let us go back in our story a little, to a sweet 
June morning before the Independence had taken such 
positive shape. 

The roses were in bloom in the doctor’s garden stretch- 
ing all along LeBaron’s Alley to Middle Street, as folk 
now carefully called it, and in their midst stood two 
young women, as fair and sweet as they, although the 
one was in gracious fullness and richness of matronhood, 
and the other the half-developed blossom, coyly hiding 
its glowing heart and threatening to refold the calyx 
leaves around its promise. 

“ Come now, Margaret, tell me in so many words, and 
waste no more of either your or my time. Have you 
quarreled with Philip de Montarnaud, or is it only cat- 
and-mouse play ? ” 

“ Oh, pray don’t waste your time, Mrs. Priscilla, over 
such idle concerns as mine ; see, here you are ! ” And 
cleverly capturing a lady-bug creeping over a rose-leaf, 
Margot held him upon the tip of a tapering forefinger 
and mockingly sang : — 

“ ‘ Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, 

Your bouse is on fire and your children will burn ! ’ ” 

And giving her finger a flick, the insect spread her 
wings and flew away, as it chanced in a northerly direc- 
tion. 


338 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 

“ See, Pris, she ’s showing you the way ! ” 

“ Peggy, you ’re enough to provoke a saint, but I am 
your older sister ” — 

“ Oh, so much older ! Three whole years, is n’t it ? ” 
“ Do be good, little sister, and let me help you ! ” 

“ Oh, Pris, I ’m naughty, and I love to be naughty, 
and nobody can help me, and — and — I wish — I 
wish ” — 

But the wish was lost in the great bunch of white 
roses the girl suddenly crushed up against her face. 

“ Child ! But did you let him go away in anger ? ” 

“ Yes ; why need he tell me about that Mademoiselle 
de Rochambeau, and hope she could come over here with 
her brother the count ? And oh, she was so elegant, and 
so accomplished, and so gentile , and so mistress of her- 
self, and had so fine a manner, and never was rude, and 
— and — I know not what all ; but I do know that I 
told Monsieur Philip to get back to her and her brother, 
or to France, or to Havre de Grace, or anywhere else he 
liked, as fast as he could, and never come troubling me 
again, for there was a better man than he ” — 

“ A better man ! Why, whom did you mean, Mar- 
got?” 

“ Why — Tom Crandon, or Tom Davis, or Tom Wat- 
son, and when I ’ve done with the Toms I ’ll take the 
Dicks, and then the Harrys ; there ’s enough to be had 
of all three.” 

“ Now, see here, Peggy,” — 

“ You know that I hate to be called Peggy.” 

“ Well Margaret, then,” — 

“No, Margot. Don’t you love your little Margot, 
Prissy dear ? ” 

“ Oh, Margot,” — 


PARSON HOVEY. 


389 


“ Mas’r send his comperments, and like to speak to 
Mis’ Pris w’en she done conversas’ing wid Miss Mar- 
g’et.” 

“ Oh ! ” And Priscilla, a little startled, turned and 
confronted Quasho, very bent, very white, very lame, in 
these days, and with a certain air of feeble expectancy 
always hanging about him, — the air that characterizes 
some purblind, stiff-limbed old dog, whose master has 
gone into a house and left him waiting on the door- 
step. Sight and scent and hearing have all grown dim, 
but there is yet another sense that will tell him when 
his master comes, and he will follow him, yes, follow to 
the end. 

“ Good - morning, Quash,” said Priscilla, gently. 
“ How is the rheumatism ? Did the opodeldoc do you 
good?” 

“ T’ank you kin’ly, Mis’ Prissie, it done me heap o’ 
good, t’ank you.” 

“ Who rubbed it on for you ? ” 

“Well, it ain’t been rubbed on yit, Mis’ Pris, ’cause 
Phyllis pooty mis’able in her feelin’s dese days, an’ I 
don’ keer ’bout strippin’ off ’fore dese new niggers ; but 
it done me heaps o’ good to t’ink Mis’ Pris done put it 
up fer pore old unc’ Quash, an’ de piece o’ frannel an’ 
all so pooty and nice. I ’ll go tell mas’r Mis’ Pris 
a-comin’.” 

And retreating as he spoke, with many bows and 
scrapes, the old fellow was out of hearing before Pris- 
cilla could reply. 

“ And I ’ll go and corroborate the news,” cried Mar- 
got, gayly, and fled away in another direction. A little 
later Priscilla found her arranging roses in a great In- 
dian bowl, in the parlor, looking toward the sea, the 


340 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


parlor where Teresa, years before, had like a royal donor 
given a man to her suppliant rival. 

“ Margot, father says he should like a little ride, and 
wants you to go with him and drive.” 

“ Does he ? I am so glad he feels stronger.” 

“ So am I ; he wants to go over to Ponds, to see Dr. 
Ivory Hovey.” 

“ Is he ready ? ” 

“ Yes ; there ’s the chaise at the door.” 

“ I ’ll run and get my hat.” 

“ But one word more, Maggie,” — 

“ No, no, we must n’t keep father waiting.” 

And Priscilla could not get another word with her 
sister, until the latter, radiant and provoking, ran down 
the stairs and lightly sprang into the chaise, where her 
father, the wan shadow of his former self, awaited her. 

“ Shall I drive, father ? ” asked she, taking the reins 
from the shaking hand with which Quasho ceremoniously 
handed them to his master. 

“ Why, yes, if you want to, Margot,” replied the in- 
valid. It was a little ceremony performed every time 
Dr. Lazarus had been out for many a day. 

“ ’Bye, Pris. Give my love to Abra’m.” 

“ Good-morning, father ; good-morning, Peggy.” 

And as Mrs. Hammatt turned down the Alley to- 
ward her home, Margot shook the reins and blithely 
drove along Leyden Street and down the steep hill of 
Market Street and along the Sandwich road, saying : — 

“ Going to Parson Hovey’s, are n’t we ? ” 

“ Yes, daughter. His niece Abiah, S’uth’ard How- 
land’s wife, told me that the parson is but poorly and 
fancied to see me.” 

“ He always does you good, father, whether you can 
help him or not.” 


PARSON HOVEY. 


341 


“Yes, the man has a marvelous dry humor that 
suits my fancy. Ha ! Dr. Nathaniel Lothrop, was it 
not?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“ I wish we had stopped and asked him how his wife 
finds herself to-day.” 

“ I heard that Madam Hobart, her mother, was here 
to visit her,” said Margot, knowing that her father cared 
for little bits of town news like this. 

“ Ah — Madam Hobart,” replied he ; “a fine wo- 
man, a prodigious fine woman ; she was Madam Lo- 
throp, you know, and before that she was Mrs. Wat- 
son.” 

“ And before that ? ” 

“ Oh, she was born Priscilla Thomas, of Marshfield, 
and there ’s a story to it. While she was a girl there 
at home, and Caleb Thomas was not too well off in this 
world’s gear, a young Divinity student, Noah Hobart 
by name, came a-wooing, and got the maiden’s promise 
easily enough ; but the father demurred, for he knew 
that parsons are apt to be more blessed in progeny than 
pence, and Noah was not even a parson yet. While the 
question was hanging, John Watson, grandfather of the 
John who married Lucia Marston t’other day, and who 
was a rich young widower, with house next to your 
sister Lyddy’s there, came a-courting also, and the 
father at once gave the vote for him. You see it would 
be so convenient to have a place in Plymouth to stop 
over night when he came to Sessions Court, and he was 
a very litigious man.” 

“ Father ! ” 

“Well, Caleb put the matter before Priscilla fairly 
enough, and she told Noah all about it, expecting to be 


342 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


much praised for her constancy; but Noah was cool 
and sensible even in those days, and wise beyond his 
years. He considered the matter for a while, and then 
told her that her father was right ; marriage with him 
meant long waiting, even for the daily bread absolutely 
necessary, and that it was likely enough the butter for 
it would never come. John Watson was a good man, 
and a rich man, and her life with him would be safe 
and prosperous, and she could give a helping hand to 
the sisters coming up behind, so he released her from 
her promise, and forestalling a little his ministerial 
privileges gave her his blessing and bade her good-by.” 

‘‘The horrid, hateful jilt of a man ! ” exclaimed Mar- 
got, bringing the whip down so sharply on the old horse’s 
back as to make him caper. 

“ So Priscilla thought,” replied the doctor, dryly. 
“ And instead of meekly accepting the blessing and the 
advice, she sent her reasonable lover away with a flea in 
his ear, and then cried herself sick. Silly girl, was n’t 
she, Margot, to quarrel with her best friend ? ” 

“ Perhaps she expected to make it up,” suggested 
Margot with a little smile. 

“ Perhaps she did ; but Noah had spirit as well as 
judgment, and the next news was that he had engaged 
himself to Ellen Sloss, a very pretty girl, with a very 
pretty purse. Then Priscilla accepted John Watson in 
a hurry and was married before Hobart graduated, 
which no doubt was a comfort to her. Two or three 
years later, just after Hobart’s marriage, Watson died, 
leaving Priscilla a handsome and wealthy widow, but 
too late for Noah, you see.” 

“ I hope Ellen Sloss did n’t know about it, or she 
might have felt de trop ,” remarked Margot, saucily. 


PARSON HOVEY. 


343 


“She probably did not. So prudent a man would 
have kept a discreet silence upon such a subject. Well, 
Isaac Lothrop, himself a widower, devoted himself to 
comforting the widow, and was so successful that she 
presently married him, and made him an admirable 
wife. Then Mrs. Hobart died and Isaac Lothrop 
died, and at last those two stood face to face with only 
three graves and some thirty years between them. A 
trifle, you see, a mere bagatelle, even if you add the 
circumstance that her son Nathaniel Lothrop and his 
daughter Ellen Hobart were already betrothed ” — 

“ Father ! You make my head reel.” 

“A four-handed reel, my dear, since they all were 
married, and life seems to go merry as a marriage bell 
with all of them, except that poor Mrs. Ellen Lothrop 
has inherited her father’s weak lungs, and won’t live 
very long. I don’t know whether Nat has any little 
plans for the future or not ; but here we are at Ponds. 
You have been so agreeable, my dear, that the way has 
seemed very short.” 

Margot, who was accustomed to her father’s humor, 
made no reply, but skillfully drew rein before a charm- 
ing old house, gambrel-roofed and painted red. In front 
was a great square porch with benches at the sides, a 
white rose bush closing in one side of it and a red one 
the other, both on this June day full of bloom and bees 
and humming-birds. A well with a long sweep lay at 
one side the house, an apple orchard behind, two great 
elms with seats around them in front. Turf close as 
velvet, and green as grass, lay like a royal carpet from 
the roadside to the low sunken natural rock forming the 
doorstone, smoothed and polished through fifty years by 
the feet of the poor, the sorrowful, the perplexed, the 


344 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS . 


weary, the discouraged, all who needed a friend, a fa- 
ther, and a pastor ; for Parson Hovey was all of this to 
his people, and not one of them but brought to him his 
troubles, if he brought little else. Sometimes they 
brought their joys and successes also, but at Manomet 
Ponds, as with the rest of the world, these have never 
made a large percentage of the total, and like the other 
good things of life, people are apt to keep them for 
themselves. 

“ Ah, good-morning, good-morning, Doctor ! And 
good-morning to you, my dear. Anna is at home with 
her baby and will be amazing proud to show him to 
you. Come in, Doctor, come in, and have a glass of 
home-made wine or a gentle sip of spirits after your 
ride.” 

And with careful, cordial grasp that looked like greet- 
ing and really was assistance, the hale old man led the 
older man from his carriage to the door and seated him 
in the armchair whence he had just risen, while a 
comely young matron bustled out to meet the guests, 
and her mother smiled in the open doorway. 

“ Dominicus will see that your horse is put up, and 
you must stay for dinner,” said the parson, and wife and 
daughter echoed the invitation so cordially that the doc- 
tor, a little shaken by his drive, and Margot, who en- 
joyed the esthetic “ values ” of Ponds parsonage and its 
inmates, gladly accepted. So soon as this was settled 
the women disappeared carrying Margot with them, and 
the two old men, pipe in hand, and a cool tankard with 
glasses upon the bench beside them, settled for a talk. 

“And what was this I heard of your stealing my 
trade and setting a man’s jaw, the other day ? ” asked 
the doctor, whereat the parson laughed, and taking a 


PARSON HOVEY. 345 

long pull at his pipe, sent a spire of smoke high into the 
air. 

“ Why, you know I studied medicine before I did di- 
vinity, and sometimes think I know as little of the one 
as t’other,” said he, cheerily. “ Well, it chanced this 
way. I had been down town contending with Brother 
Robbins over this Halfway Covenant business. I think 
he is doing himself and his people a mischief because 
he will have all men follow the rule of John Calvin as 
straightly as he does himself. But Calvin was no more 
than a man, and so limited by his own day and genera- 
tion ; and God who is Infinite has made man with a ca- 
pacity of growth and development which makes the new 
generation chafe against the limits of the old, and so 
cast away the swaddling bands — well, well, I won’t 
give you my sermon dished up anew, but after this talk 
with Robbins, I preached it all the next Sunday, and 
perhaps being full of the matter waxed lengthy and 
abstruse ; at any rate, I sent some of them off to sleep, 
and the warden had occasion not only to tap the 
men’s numskulls with the deer’s foot, but to tickle the 
women’s noses with the fox’s brush, more than once. 
Still, as I found it a help to my own understanding to 
put my convictions into words, I continued until the 
seventh head of my discourse and announced it, whereat 
Penuel Virgin, straight in front of the pulpit, gaped so 
prodigiously as to dislocate his nether jaw, which, when 
the gape was done, refused to return to its ordinary 
position. The man’s aspect was peculiar, and although 
distressing, was also in some sort so diverting that 
many of our younger members began to giggle, while 
others, chiefly among the women, loudly expressed synn 
pathy, and ran to proffer the assistance they knew not 


346 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


how to give. All this of course made an unseemly inter- 
ruption to divine service and must be stopped, not to 
mention that Christian charity which prompts us to 
emulate the Good Samaritan in works of corporal 
mercy, so that merely pausing to round the period 
which I was approaching, I came down from the pulpit, 
brushed aside the women, and planting my thumb upon 
the end of the refractory jaw-bone while my fingers 
gripped the man’s chin, I snapped the bone into place, 
and pushing up the chin closed his mouth and held it 
shut, the while I remarked : — 

“ 4 Such is the penalty appointed for them who receive 
sound doctrine with gapes of slothful indifference.’ 

“ Then as Penuel, daring not to open his mouth for 
reply, got out his kerchief and bound up his jaw like a 
dead man, I returned to the pulpit and gave them the 
remaining three heads of the discourse, through which 
no man gaped and no woman dozed.” 

“ Right glad am parson, that I came to Ponds this 
day. I have not had a generous laugh since I saw you 
last,” remarked the doctor, filling his glass and wiping 
his merry eyes. 

“ ’T is better than calomel for the liver,” replied the 
parson, with a twinkling smile, “ and when I feel the 
megrims hovering about my head, I shut up Calvin or 
Edwards or Knox and go out to see my parishioners. 
Did I ever tell you of Sally Salisbury’s pies ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Well, it was in the winter, and a cold day ; so after 
Sally had allowed my plea to sit beside the kitchen fire, 
rather than in the chilly ceremony of the fore-room with 
its sputtering blaze, she proposed a mug of mulled cider 
and a cut of mince-pie, to the which I graciously con- 


PARSON HOVEY. 


347 


sented, and watched with quiet satisfaction as tlje cider 
was set to warm in a copper saucepan bright as gold, and 
the tin baker pushed up to receive the pie ; but presently 
Sally, who had been to the pantry, returned with a look 
of perplexity and a pie in either hand. 

“ ‘ Parson,’ says she, i you know most everything, 
and may be you can help me out in this. ’T was 
only yesterday I baked both mince and apple pies, and 
keyed all the edges so tight to keep in the juice that 
there ’s no peeping at their in’ards ; then by way of 
head-mark I cut in the middle of every mince -pie, 
“ t. m.,” which stands for “ ’t is mince,” and on every 
apple-pie I set “ t. m.” to signify “ ’t is n’t mince,” and 
now I can’t tell t’other from which, and I ’m sure I 
don’t see why.’ ” 

“And you — what did you do ? ” demanded LeBaron, 
wiping his eyes. 

“ Oh, T bade her bring the two pies to me for a sort 
of judgment of Solomon, and with my pocket-knife I 
‘ tapped ’ first one and then the other, as one does a 
melon, and so discovered their contents. Sally has been 
very punctual at church ever since, having gained a new 
respect for her pastor’s talents.” 

“ Well, well, I have n’t anything as good as that to tell 
you,” said the doctor, “ but I brought just a crumb to add 
to your feast. The other day Parson Robbins was walk- 
ing with Colonel Watson, and met our old friend Sam, 
just up from Saquish, with a bunch of peeps for sale. 
The colonel, who likes a toothsome dish as well as any 
man, stopped to consider the peeps, and asked how many 
of them there were. 

“ ‘ Ninety-and-nine, Colonel,’ replied Sam with great 
solemnity ; ‘ not one more, and not one less.’ 


348 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


44 ‘ Pho, Sam, why don’t you call it a hundred, and be 
done with it ? ’ asks the colonel, laughing, and Sam, roll- 
ing up his eyes at the parson, replies : — 

44 4 Think I ’m such a fool as to resk my soul for one 
d — d little peep ? ’ ” 

44 Ho, ho ! ” chuckled Parson Hovey. 44 That matches 
Sam’s other peep story that Winslow used to tell. A 
lot of them were down at Saquish and went out fishing 
with Sam. Something was said about peeps, and White 
sung out : — 

44 4 Sam, what is that story about your eating stewed 
peeps on a wager? How many did you account for, 
finally ? ’ 

44 4 No use in telling you, Colonel,’ says Sam, 4 you ’d 
only be passing your jokes on me ; you would n’t be- 
lieve me, not more than half, anyway, you know you 
would n’t.’ 

44 4 Think not, Sam ? Well, try me on half, and see if 
I can swallow that, and then we will talk about the other 
half.’ 

44 4 Half — half ? ’ says Sam, pushing up his old 
sou’wester and scratching his head. 4 Well, half would 
be — le’s see — half would be — seventy-two, I guess.’ ” 

44 Ha, ha! Seventy-two — a hundred and forty-four 
peeps at a meal ! Bravo, old Sam ! ” cried the doctor, 
smiting his knee, and the laughter of the two old men 
rang out cheerily on the pure air, and a blackbird in 
the great elm set up his crest and whistled in harmony. 

44 1 don’t believe Mr. Hovey has told you his last joke, 
Doctor,” remarked the voice of the parson’s wife from 
the doorway. 44 You know he is a man who can never say 
no to the man who asks for his cloak, though his coat may 
have gone just before, so I have to look out for him a 


PARSON EOVEY. 349 

little, or there would be no coat for him to wear into the 
pulpit of a Sunday ” — 

“ Except his robe of righteousness, madam,” inter- 
posed the doctor. 

“ White robes in the pulpit savor of Papistry,” re- 
plied the dame, slyly, and went on : “ So the other day, 
looking from my chamber window, I spied the parson 
out in the road, talking with a man I know, and know 
little good of except that he ’s a very ‘professing’ 
Christian and always going to do better. Well, I 
watched, and pretty soon I saw my husband take a sil- 
ver dollar out of his pocket, where I knew ’t was lone- 
some, and pass it over to the man, who ducked his head 
and scraped his foot, and scrambled off to drink it up.” 

“ Olivia, my dear ! Remember ” — 

“Just one minute, husband, and I’m done. He 
came in, Doctor, looking as pleased as though he ’d got 
a dollar instead of spending one, and I said, ‘ Why did 
you give that man a dollar, husband ? ’ and he replied, 
‘ Because I owed it to him. ’ ‘ Owed it ! ’ says I, for he 

never owes any man a farthing. ‘ Yes,’ says he, ‘ I owe 
every poor devil something, for I ’ve got more than my 
share of blessings.’ And dinner ’s ready, Doctor.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


A MYSTERY. 

“ Oh, Pris, it is so good of you to do this for me ! ” 

“ I don’t feel that it is good, Nan, I am afraid it ’s 
only weak. I don’t believe it can do you any good to 
see this old witch, and I believe it ’s for more than her 
herbs that you visit her.” 

“ Dear Pris, it is so kind of you to go and carry me ! ” 
“ But you won’t say that you go only for medicine ? ” 
“ Priscilla, I have not very long to live, nor much joy 
while I live ; do not grudge me any indulgence that 
makes life more tolerable. You have a husband, and 
children, and a home, and you need not to seek com- 
fort in strange places ; but all is different with me ! ” 

“ Hannah, you break my heart when you speak in 
that voice, and I could not deny you the very pieces of 
it, if they would pleasure you.” 

“ I know it, Pris, and I love you for it.” 

“ And after all, more than you have gone to mother 
Crewe to get their fortunes told, and will again, and 
nobody has died of it, so far as I ’ve been told ; so get 
up, Wally, get up.” 

And Priscilla Hammatt, with rather a doleful look at 
the lowering sky and gloomy pine woods closing around 
the road, laid the whip upon Wally, the horse Captain 
Hammatt had chosen to call Walrus from some like- 
ness in his motion to the floundering of a sea-horse, 


A MYSTERY. 


351 


and turned him off the Carver Road into a woodpath 
leading to the cabin where mother Crewe still lived 
and waited, although her age had become as mythical 
as her means of subsistence. 

“ I hate to leave you here, Hannah,” said she again, 
as Wally, with a last ponderous exertion, dragged the 
chaise out of the deep ruts and turned aside to the 
cabin door. “ Mind you, it will be a good two hours or 
more before I can reach Lucas’s, do my errand about 
the wood, and get back here.” 

“ Never mind, Pris, we shall be at home before six 
o’clock, even so.” 

“Yes; but if she scare you, Nan, and there’s no 
getting away ? ” 

“ She won’t, she won’t,” replied Hannah, rather pee- 
vishly. “ There, Pris, let me have my own way and kiss 
me good-by, though I ’m so froward and vex you so 
sorely.” 

“You don’t vex me, Nan, but — well, see if the old 
thing ’s at home before I go.” 

“ Oh, she expects me — that is — I ’ll see, yes.” 

And as Hannah, a sudden color in her pale face, 
slipped from the carriage and knocked upon the crazy 
door, Priscilla felt the vague terror at her heart sharpen 
and intensify. 

“ She expected her ! ” said she softly ; “ and Hannah 
never told me ! ” 

The door opened a crack, and Hannah, peering in, 
turned back to her friend with a gesture both of assent 
and of tender deprecation. 

“ She ’s at home, Priscilla, — oh, Pris, don’t look like 
that ! ” 

“ You might have told me it was an appointment, 


352 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Hannah, but there — come kiss me good-by, child, and 
don’t get scared. I ’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“ Good-by, Pris ! ” And standing on the step of the 
chaise, Hannah lifted her pale dark face to Priscilla’s 
rosy one, and the friends kissed lovingly. 

Then Priscilla drove thoughtfully away, and Hannah, 
pushing open the door, entered a gloomy room, compris- 
ing the whole area of the house, and yet too small for 
the multifarious contents. The only window was closely 
curtained, and when the door was shut no light remained 
except a dull glow from the turf upon the hearth. Close 
beside its glimmering spark some wild creature, tamed 
by the witch’s arts, crouched, growling sullenly at the 
stranger’s step. 

“ Be quiet, Milcom, or I ’ll put thy paw in the fire 
again,” cried mother Crewe, fiercely, and the creature 
cowered and was still. 

“It is well you came to-day, girl, for there are mighty 
ones in the air, and there is much to see. You brought 
the silver and the gold ? ” 

“ Here they are, and the gold was hard to come by.” 

“ Yes, — and knowledge such as mine is hard to 
come by. And the meat and the bread and the strong 
waters ? ” 

“ They are in this basket.” 

“ And the lock of your own hair, cut at the full of the 
moon ? ” 

“ Here it is.” 

“ And you have said no prayers for the last four-and- 
twenty hours ? ” 

“ God forgive me — no.” 

“ Hush, fool ! Don’t anger those you have summoned, 
and who can tell you what you want to know. Sit you 


A MYSTERY. 


353 


down here, fix your eyes upon that corner, and your 
thoughts on him you ’re fain to see. Speak not a word, 
nor stir, whatever you may look upon, or whatever I 
may say. Be eyes and ears, and nothing more.” 

As she spoke, the hag placed a low seat in the centre 
of the room, spreading over it a cloth curiously em- 
broidered around the edges with cabalistic signs. Upon 
this she placed Hannah, taking care that no part of her 
body or her clothes projected beyond the cloth. This 
done she covered the embers of the fire so that for a 
moment total darkness and silence filled the place. 
Then in the remotest corner of the room a thin blue 
flame flickered up, and was reflected in Milcom’s phos- 
phorescent eyes ; the smell and sound of burning hair 
succeeded, and with it a wild chant, now rising to shrill- 
ness, now sinking to a melancholy wail, to groans, and 
sibilant whispers, and muttered words, and the weary 
breathings of exhaustion. 

Hannah, silent, motionless, terrified but resolute, a 
cold moisture upon her brow, and her clenched hands 
cold as ice, never moved her eyes from the corner 
where she had been bidden to look, and noted the 
strange waves and flashes of color that swept from time 
to time across the black background of the scene. A 
creeping chill filled the air ; a distant sound, as of surf 
breaking upon a beach half heard through restless sleep, 
forced itself upon her consciousness ; an awful terror 
seemed to freeze the blood at her heart ; a wild long- 
ing to fly to the rescue of something dearer than her 
own life combated with a numbing sense of disability. 
Then in the sweeping masses of vapor, shadowy forms 
began to shape themselves, — the ice-laden rigging of a 
vessel, driving sheets of sleet, men staggering before 


854 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


them, fighting against them, beaten down and trampled 
to death by the demon of the storm. A sense of helpless 
flight before a deadly enemy sure to conquer in the end, 
of misery and mortal weariness, of struggle without 
hope, and the desperate defiance that ends in despair, 
— all passed over her, all seemed to drag her into union 
with those shadowy figures, momently growing more 
and more distinct before some interior perception that 
seemed to use her bodily eyes merely as windows, 
through which it gazed upon what those human eyes 
could not have seen. 

One figure grew gradually more distinct than all the 
rest : a man, muffled as all were to the eyes, staggered 
up and down the deck, heating his breast, stamping his 
feet, fighting against the deadly chill as against a hu- 
man foe, stooping now and again to raise a fallen com- 
rade, to grasp the arm of one dropping into the sleep 
of death and force him to stagger beside him up and 
down the deck, to speak a word of cheer, and then 
himself to turn and gaze at some far-off point, as if to 
gather strength and hope from thence. A voice — was 
it mother Crewe’s, or was it Milcom’s, or yet some other 
force ? The girl knew not, but it was a voice, and said, 
or rather chanted in a strange and awful monotone : — 

“ Christmas Day ! Christmas Day ! A Christmas 
stolen from the Nazarene ! Christmas that scoffs at 
Him and his honor ! A day of days for the Prince of 
the Power of the Air. A day to call out the storm fiends 
and the death of ice and sleet, and to snatch the breath 
out of lips that forswear the Great Birthday of the world. 
Let loose the bands of the North ! Come, O cold that 
kills, and fury of storm and smothering snow ! Come, 
deadly blast full of the ice-arrows of death ! Come, frozen 


A MYSTERY. 


355 


waves of ocean breaking in destruction ! Come, heaving 
shoulders of mighty ones thrusting the ship upon the 
rocks and sands that wait to tear her asunder ! Hell is 
let loose and Hades laughs, for they go down — go down 
quick into the yawning gulf. Yet some — yes, some 
must be saved — a Power stands behind the Power of 
the Air, and some, some are set apart for life and not 
for death — some for life in this world — some who die 
to-day pass like the Three Children through the furnace 
to safety and joy — yes — he must loose his hold even 
though he snatch their mortal breath — yet some are his, 
all his — the man who, yet unborn, was cursed for his 
father’s and his mother’s sin — joy, joy, for he shall 
die — see — see — see how he is beaten down by that 
fury of ice and wind, see him slip and fall, and rise 
again and fall — and now he would rise, but another 
falls above him and pins him down — he dies and the 
curse is fulfilled — ah, the curse rebounds and returns 
whence it came out — the curser is the accursed forever- 
more, and no hope, no release, no pardon ” — 

Whether the words were spoken by a voice, or whether 
they were spoken in her own brain, or if they fashioned 
themselves out of the scene that passed before that 
strange inner sight of hers, the girl could never tell even 
to herself ; nor could she distinguish what she heard 
from what she felt and saw ; nor could she tell if Ansel 
Ring, sinking, struggling, fighting for life, and turning 
in his last consciousness toward the spot where she 
dwelt, saw her and was with her, and with his frozen 
lips and ice-bound breath whispered her name and 
“ Good-by, dear love,” or if she heard that he did so, or 
if she were there, or he with her, or how they met, — 
only she knew that they met, and she drew in that icy 


356 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


farewell and felt it carry death to the warm life-springs 
of her heart. 

A deadly chill, a swooning sickness, a veil of utter 
blackness and oblivion, a sense of falling from some 
immeasurable height into unfathomable depths, and she 
knew no more until a sweet yet sharpened voice ex- 
claimed : — 

“ What foolishness ! I knew you ’d scare the life out 
of her some way ! ” 

And wearily opening her eyes, she met Priscilla’s 
anxious and loving gaze, and at the same time felt her 
head raised and a cup put to her lips. 

“ What’s that now ? What witch-broth are you giv- 
ing her ? ” demanded Priscilla. 

“A little sperit-and-water. Just about what your 
father has given many a time to fainting folk,” replied 
mother Crewe, sullenly ; and Hannah, sipping a little, felt 
warmth return to her frozen veins, and in a few moments 
was able to take her place in the chaise, and, leaning 
back in the corner, to slowly recover her full conscious- 
ness and memory. 

Priscilla, who was vexed and unhappy, and also in a 
great hurry, urged the old horse on, and remained silent 
until her companion softly asked : — 

“ What ’s Christmas, Pris ? ” 

“ Christmas ? Why, one of the Popish mummeries, 
when they burn spirits in a bowl and play games. We 
don’t hold to such doings in this country, you know. 
I ’ve heard father tell of it when he was in England, and 
how the men kissed the maids under a branch of a tree 
hung up.” 

“ But — is it — is it somebody’s birthday ? ” hesitated 
Hannah, dreamily. 


A MYSTERY. 


357 


“ Birthday — well there, perhaps it is the Pope o* 
Rome’s ! It seems to me as if something was said of a 
birthday ; but it ’s Popish, anyway, and we’ve naught to 
do with it. Did mother Crewe tell you about it ? ” 

“ Yes — n — o — I can’t tell,” stammered Hannah, 
and Priscilla angrily flicked Wally’s ears, and drove 
home through the gathering December twilight. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


A WOFUL DAY. — A PITEOUS SIGHT. 

Christmas Eye, in the Year of our Lord 1778, fell 
"apon a Thursday, and while those of the patriots remain- 
ing in Boston who had hearts large enough to combine 
resistance to England’s tyranny with loyalty to England’s 
Church kept the festival as best they might, Captain 
Magee, of the privateer brigantine General Arnold, 
mounting twenty guns and carrying a hundred and five 
men and boys as her crew, selected it as his day for sail- 
ing out of Boston, bound on a cruise. 

Captain Magee, by birth an Irish Protestant and by 
nature a hero, neither knew nor cared much about 
Christmas Eve, but he knew and cared a great deal 
about sailors, and would have been very sorry to begin 
his voyage on a Friday, knowing that it would be logged 
unlucky by every man and boy of his hundred and five ; 
yes, even by Tommy Marchant, the hundred and sixth, 
a young gentleman aged ten, whom the captain had 
good-naturedly promised to deliver to his friends at 
Martha’s Vineyard, when he should put in at Holmes 
Hole. 

So, hurrying matters a little, the General Arnold took 
her formal departure from Long Wharf about sunset on 
Christmas Eve, with an ominous sky overhead, and a 
sullen and moody west wind astern. 

“ Dirty weather ahead, Captain,” remarked Jethro 
Coffin, master’s mate, and a man whose years and wis- 
dom gave him leave to speak. 


A PITEOUS SIGHT. 


359 


“We’ll make dirty weather for the first fat prize we 
come across, Master,” replied the captain, cheerily, and 
the ancient mariner walked forward, saying in his throat, 
“ Hope we ’ll get as far as old Nantucket, anyway ; 
I ’d rather lay my bones there, than ” — 

The boatswain’s whistle piping to supper cut short the 
wish, and the Fates denied it. 

A baffling and anxious night passed, and Christmas 
Day broke with every storm-sign augmented and immi- 
nent. About noon the variable wind settled into the 
northeast, and speedily rose to a gale. Failing to reach 
the open sea, Magee resolved to run into Plymouth Har- 
bor, and at nightfall, under storm stay-sails and with two 
men at the helm, drove past the Gurnet, and unable to 
signal for a pilot in the darkness, anchored 'in the Cow 
Yard. But still the storm gathered force, and the gale 
rose to its height, bringing in fierce bursts of sleet and 
frozen snow, covering decks, masts, and rigging with ar- 
mor of ice. The cables strained, moaned like gigantic 
harpstrings, and finally parted with an explosion like 
thunder. Driving like a plaything before the fury of 
the storm, the brigantine plunged forward and struck 
heavily upon White Flat, burying her nose in the sand 
like some poor wounded monster, checked in mid career 
by the hunter’s bullet in his shoulder. 

“ Cut away the masts and hamper, and she may drive 
over,” shouted the captain in Coffin’s ear, and through 
the shrieks of the wind came the hoarse bellow of the 
trumpet, and the ominous order : — 

“ Cut away the main-mast ” — and the rest was lost 
in a howl of the wind. 

Saturday morning dawned in such a fury of winter 
storm as makes its record upon the history of a country. 


360 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


Wind, and sea, and sleet, and snow, and frozen foam torn 
from the crests of the waves, washing contemptuously all 
over the decks, dashed like ammunition into the faces 
of men who defied human foes and laughed at their 
menace, but who cowered aghast at the malignant fury 
of the elements. 

Beating upon the hard sands of the Flat, the vessel 
had bilged and settled by the head, so that every sea 
broke over the main deck, and the crew huddled upon 
the quarter deck, where now one and then another, 
stifled by the snow, stunned by the waves, frozen to ici- 
cles as they clung to the only shrouds they should ever 
know, fell and died, or died in such attitudes of life that 
their comrades shouted counsel into dead ears. 

“ The men are at the spirit-cask ! ” cried the first 
officer in the captain’s ear, and repeated it, until word 
by word it was snatched from the tempest. 

The two looked at each other, and without more ado 
made their way down the companion, and forward to 
where, just out of reach of the flood washing the main 
deck, a crowd of sailors and mariners clung like bees 
around the cask of rum, broached only the day before, 
and so ravenously drowned their sorrow in the fiery 
liquid that a dozen or more had drowned their bodies 
as well, and washed hither and thither in the flood 
amidships. The captain looked, raised his voice, and 
shouted a command neither heard nor heeded, then nod- 
ding to his officer to imitate him, seized an axe thrown 
aside after cutting the masts away, and swinging it 
around his head, brought it down so squarely upon the 
head of the cask, as it lay upon its side, as to start the 
seasoned oak from its grooves, and let the poison out in 
a stream. A wild howl of rage and defiance rose from 


A PITEOUS SIGHT. 361 

desperate lips, and oaths and menaces mingled upon 
the air with the fumes of the spirit ; but the axe was 
keen and heavy, and the captain’s eye was resolute, 
and no resistance was made. Another blow and an- 
other, and the cask lay a wreck, with perhaps a gallon 
or two of the spirits in the bottom. Over this, the cap- 
tain mounted guard with a pannikin in his hand, and 
after pouring a portion into the top of each of his high 
sea-boots, beckoned the lieutenant and did the same for 
him, with as many of the men as would submit ; and 
those men had no frozen feet, and many of them were 
among the survivors, while those who drank and slept, 
or drank and raved, were among the first to die. 

“ Tommy Marchant ! ” roared the captain, in the ear 
of old Coffin, who had been by his side in the incip- 
ient mutiny, and the Nantucket man nodded and 
scrambled aft, presently returning with a little muffled 
figure in his arms, half carrying, half guiding it, until, 
just in reach of the captain’s arm, both stumbled and 
fell before a swoop of the tempest almost like the 
snatch of a personal fiend, and as the captain, darting 
forward, seized the boy, the man whirled over and over 
like a dead leaf, flew over the side, and was seen no more. 

“ God save him ! ” cried the captain, and it was as 
good a funeral service as that in the Prayer-Book. 

“ Must we go too, Captain ? ” gasped little Marchant, 
his blue lips at the captain’s ear. 

“ No, my boy ! Your mother ’s waiting for you, and 
you must n’t break her heart. Live for her sake, lad ! ” 

Not many of the words reached the little fellow’s ear, 
but the tone did, and the words “ mother ” and “ break 
her heart,” and shaking himself together he smiled with 
piteous cheeriness and said, “ Oh, yes, I ’ll see mother 


362 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


again.” Years after, when he was an old man there at 
the Vineyard, Tom Marchant said that Captain Magee 
saved his life by his brave words, and by the rum with 
which he filled his little boots. 

And now another blow was struck at that doomed 
crew. Within hail of the General Arnold lay a small 
schooner frozen into the ice extending far out from the 
beach, across which the icy seas were combing, and al- 
though she was too small and too feebly manned to do 
anything for the assistance of the brigantine, she was a 
harbor of refuge for as many of the wrecked crew as 
could reach her. Thinking of this as he made his way 
back to the quarter deck, the captain, casting an eye 
upon the davits where swung no boats, for all had been 
stove at the first, said to himself, “ There is still the 
yawl, and if I can keep order, most of those able to 
move may still be saved.” 

But hardly were his shoulders above the companion- 
way, when something was tossed into the air between 
him and the skies, and with a gasp, that wellnigh had 
been his last, for it filled his lungs with ice, the com- 
mander recognized the yawl, stolen in his absence by a 
few wretches who heeded not how many were left to 
die. To be sure, they flung back a promise that the boat 
should be returned by some of the schooner’s men, but 
instead, it lay on the edge of the ice and stove in sight 
of those who died for need of it, and yet are less to be 
pitied than the deserters who lived and came ashore to 
hear men’s minds of their conduct. 

The night passed for a few, but for the many it was 
they who passed, let us hope from death to life, from 
storm to calm, from conflict to eternal rest. 

Sunday morning broke, and still the winds and the 


A PITEOUS SIGHT. 


363 


seas raged, even more fiercely than at the first, although 
the snow had ceased, and the air was cleared enough to 
let the survivors see the beach not a mile away, and 
farther on the town where the captain with his glass 
could make out men cutting away the boats near the 
wharves, and others running such as were free across 
the ice, and launching them in the churning flood of 
water, snow, ice, and wreckage running furiously through 
the channel. 

Soon the men themselves, as the air cleared with the 
breaking of the storm, could see the efforts made, and a 
sudden hope, a wild excitement and hurry, took posses- 
sion of their half-crazed brains, so that they shouted 
and danced and shook each other’s hands, and stood 
with foot and hand upraised ready to step upon the 
rescuing boat, not yet within hail. But alas, and alas ! 
the elements were still too mighty in their wrath to give 
place to man, and strive as they might, the brave Plym- 
outh men were beaten back, and all but wrecked them- 
selves, and more than one tossed senseless upon the ice 
from a shattered boat, so that at last, as night fell, they 
sadly gave over their efforts and began a retreat. Then 
indeed did despair fall upon those dying men, and as the 
Plymouth boats turned back such a wail went up from 
the doomed ship as those who lived to tell of it shud- 
dered in recalling, even when years had passed ; and 
many a one, losing all hope, lost life as well, and fell 
prone upon the deck. 

The night passed, but even staunch Magee, strong 
young fellow though he was, and brave and vigilant 
commander to the last, could never recall how. All that 
he remembered was fiercely shaking Tommy Marchant, 
and forcing him to pace the deck, half asleep as they 
both were, and more than half dead. 


364 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


But with Monday came a clear sky and a subsiding 
sea and' wind. By noon the Plymouth men were on 
board, and not one among them ever dared fully de- 
scribe the sight. Seventy-two dead men and near thirty 
dying ones confronted them, the dead frozen into all 
imaginable attitudes : some erect and staring blankly out 
of eyes filled with ice ; some clinging desperately to 
ropes, or spars, or to the dead bodies beside them, their 
ghastly faces turned toward the shore; some grinning 
in fierce defiance of their pain ; some crouched, their 
faces hidden upon their knees ; some fallen flat, with 
arms desperately clutched upon some broken hope. 
Even Magee in his own account says, “The scene was 
one, the particulars of which would shock the least deli- 
cate humanity.” 

Of those who lived, most were insensible, and the 
captain, wild of eye and stammering of speech, only 
retained his senses by such a superhuman effort as 
changed him from a very vigorous young man to stern 
middle age. 

And still in his arms he held the boy, close wrapped, 
and now fast asleep. 

“ You ’d better wake little Marchant, gentlemen,” 
were the first words he spoke to the rescue crew, and 
men say the ghastly smile upon his face was as awful as 
any sight upon that quarter deck. 

In boats on the ice, and then upon sledges hastily 
nailed together, they brought them all ashore, the liv- 
ing to the houses hospitably thrown open upon every 
hand, — for when was Plymouth less than eager in 
her hospitality ? — and the dead to the Town Hall, at 
the foot of Burying Hill, where all the doctors in the 
town, and there were several in those days, had hastily 


A PITEOUS SIGHT. 


365 


assembled, and where it was found that many set apart 
as dead still showed signs of life, and with cruel kind- 
ness were revived. 

One poor fellow named Downs, from Barnstable, left 
for dead, was seen to move an eyelash, and being laid 
in a trough of ice water revived, but in such torture 
that his shrieks were heard all through the village. 
Even so the blood could not penetrate his feet, and both 
were lost. But he lived to be an old man, and told his 
story to children and children’s children. 

Tommy Marchant slept for two days, and woke up 
very hungry but perfectly well, and not long after was 
sent safely to his mother, who, though too good a Prot- 
estant to know the names of the Saints, canonized James 
Magee. 

The officers and those of the men who had friends to 
claim them were placed in coffins for removal or sepa- 
rate sepulture, and never from the days of the Pilgrims 
to to-day has so grewsome a sight been seen in Plym- 
outh as when those distorted bodies were anchored in 
the Town Brook, floating there until the cold water 
should straighten them for the grave. The others, some 
sixty unknown men, were reverently laid together in a 
great pit at the southwestern corner of Burying Hill, 
and years after, some pitiful soul, not of their kith or 
kin, raised a monument over them, beside which you 
may stand and in the twilight of the sweet summer day 
picture to yourself that long-past tragedy, until moving 
to the eastern brow of the hill you look out upon the 
silvery sparkle of White’s Flat and the pretty dancing 
ripples of the Cow Yard, and wonder once again at the 
unsympathy of Nature. 

Captain Magee, who lived some years and made sew 


366 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


eral voyages after this, but never was quite himself 
again, became the guest of S’uth’ard Howland, and the 
recipient of more attention and more delicate cates and 
more questions than were welcome to his shattered sys- 
tem. One of these latter we may understand better than 
he did. It was just at night on the second day of his 
stay, the day before the Rev. Chandler Robbins and 
Parson Hovey were to say the funeral service over the 
dead. The captain was for the moment alone, when the 
door softly opened to admit a figure so pallid, so slight, 
so noiseless, that he almost thought it a ghost, until she 
softly said : — 

“ I am Mr. Howland’s sister, Captain Magee, and I 
much wish to ask you a question. Did a man named 
Ansel Ring sail among your ship’s crew ? ” 

“I — excuse me, madam, but I am easily startled in 
these days. Ansel Ring ? No, I remember no such 
name, and although, of course, I could not know all my 
crew so soon, I surely should have noted such a name 
on the books. Do you think he was on board ? ” 

“ Yes — I know he was.” 

“ Well, madam, the living are few enough to he easily 
numbered, and the dead were all recovered, or nearly 
all.” 

“ I must search among that fearful company in the 
Town Hall, then ? ” 

“ No, no, it is no sight for you — indeed, my dear 
young lady, it is no sight for you.” 

“ Thank you, sir, and good-night.” 

The next day, when the funeral services were held, 
and Chandler Robbins looked, for the first time, upon 
the forms and faces of those sixty unknown men, he 
fainted in the extremity of his pity and dismay. All 


A PITEOUS SIGHT. 


367 


the men of the town were there, and a few women ; one, 
deeply veiled and not recognized, looked with unflinch- 
ing eye upon a sight too terrible for the strong men, 
and finally took her stand beside a form identified by no 
eyes save those of hopeless love. 

All was over, and in that great grave beneath the 
kindly monument Ansel Ring rests in peace, himself 
and his story alike forgotten, save in the books where 
all things are recorded . 1 

1 The ‘ ‘ Magee Shipwreck ’ ’ occurred exactly as here narrated, 
and a monument erected to the memory of the seventy-two sea- 
men still marks the resting-place of sixty of their numbe* on 
Burying Hill, Plymouth, Mass. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


DEBORAH FIRES A SALUTE OF HONOR. 

Again the Fathers of Plymouth were assembled in 
the Council Chamber at the Town Hall considering the 
interests of their townsmen and of the Colony ; but now 
they called themselves the Committee of Safety instead 
of Selectmen, and now, more than formerly, the real 
power of government was vested in the hands of a 
body to which their constituents looked with confidence 
for protection against not only the powerful enemy 
menacing without, but the enemy within their own bor- 
ders, the men with whom they had grown up in friendly 
intercourse and brotherly love, but who to-day stood 
ready at the command of King George to meet them 
hand to hand in deadly contest, and who sneered aloud 
at all which the patriots held most sacred and most 
dear. 

Into the councils of this responsible body, as some 
fifteen years before into those of the Selectmen, and as a 
great many years before into those of the gods, pene- 
trated a woman so filled with the importance of her own 
business as to easily set aside those masculine delibera- 
tions which, being slow and methodical, can be better 
interrupted and taken up again than the intuitional 
processes of feminine reason. Yes, I said reason. 

As on that former occasion, James Warren filled the 
Chair and guided the minds of his colleagues, although 


DEBORAH FIRES A SALUTE OF HONOR. 369 


a younger man than the one of fifteen years before ; 
for James Warren, husband of Penelope Winslow, 
lay in peace upon Burying Hill beside his haughty 
wife, and this was their son, Major-General James 
Warren, Chief of the Massachusetts Militia, foremost 
among the patriots of the Old Colony, and husband 
of that Mercy Otis Warren whose History of the Rev- 
olution and correspondence with Adams have placed 
her beside S6vign6 and Stael and Roland. In many 
respects, however, this James Warren strongly resem- 
bled his father, and in nothing more than in the court- 
esy, the gentlehood, and the simplicity of their mutual 
manners. To him the intruder addressed herself, walk- 
ing calmly up to the table and standing erect beside it, 
while he ceremoniously rose to receive the comely ma- 
tron, whose presence the spirit of the day taught him 
to consider an unwelcome intrusion. 

“ Good-morrow to you, General Warren, and to you 
all, gentlemen.” 

<{ Good-morrow to you, Mrs. Samson. Will you be 
seated, and inform us ” — 

“ Nay, I ’ve no time for ceremony, and to inform 
you of my errand is what I ’m here for. Captain Sam- 
son has been exchanged, and is on his way home in a 
cartel out of Halifax. He wrote me so much from 
Boston, where he is held a while for some formalities, 
but will be down to-morrow, wind and weather permit- 
ting.” 

“ Thank you very much, Mrs. Samson, for your at- 
tention in bringing us this news, but we have already 
received it by an official communication through the 
post-office,” replied Warren with a bow as of dismissal, 
but Deborah held her ground. 


370 DR LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ And what notice does the town plan to take of Cap> 
tain Samson’s return ? ” asked she, quietly. 

“ Notice ? — why really — we shall all of course 
pay our respects, madam, and — yes — we may, I think, 
offer the captain a dinner, a banquet of welcome and 
congratulation upon his gallant and noble services. Is 
not that our mind, gentlemen ? ” 

Murmurs of assent rose from mouths more or less 
sternly closed in reprobation of a woman’s presence 
among them, and William Watson quietly suggested : — 
“ Perhaps it will be better to wait until Captain Sam- 
son is here, and make our arrangements with him. It 
would be to my mind more seemly.” 

“And to mine,” added Colonel Theophilus Cotton, 
briefly. 

“ A moment, gentlemen. When once Captain Sam- 
son is at home he will take his place as master of his 
own house and his own motions, and will accept or de- 
cline your dinners and your banquets as he chooses. 
But my errand is to know in what fashion the town 
means to welcome her naval commander and defender 
so soon as he shall appear in her harbor. To my mind, 
a salute of twelve guns from the battery on Cole’s Hill, 
and the ringing of the bells and flying of the flags for 
an hour, were a very pretty attention, although not 
enough. If the militia were to turn out, or at the least 
Captain Hammatt’s company, with the band, and escort 
him up to his house, it would be better. But what is 
your own plan, gentlemen ? ” 

The members of the Committee looked at each other 
with the puzzled and appealing gaze common to men 
who find themselves suddenly cornered by woman’s il= 
logical but irresistible deductions from premises they 


DEBORAH FIRES A SALUTE OF HONOR. 371 


have not yet got round to considering after their own 
methods, and Warren, looking far more foolish than 
he ever did in face of the British, replied truthfully 
but helplessly, — 

“We had not thought of it, Mrs. Samson, and I — 
I don’t know — we have no precedent — you know, 
madam, that we honor and value Captain Samson quite 
as much as you can ” — But an irrepressible smile upon 
the faces of some of his colleagues suggesting to the 
Chairman that the Committee of Safety could hardly 
claim the devotion of a wife to Captain Samson, he hes- 
itated, cleared his throat, and finally with an appealing 
look around him remarked : “ I suppose we had better 
concert some action such as — such as is suggested, had 
we not, gentlemen ? ” 

“We probably should have, without interference,” 
replied Watson severely, if mendaciously, and the rest 
assented more or less positively. Deborah’s bright 
dark eyes rested attentively upon each face, and a 
somewhat triumphant smile just passed across a mouth 
a trifle too resolute for feminine beauty, but full of 
promise should the need for decisive action come. 

“ I ’ll leave you then, sirs, to your deliberations, ask- 
ing pardon that I should have interrupted them, since 
you were already minded to do as I wish ; but should 
your deputies forget or neglect to obey your commands 
in this matter of the salute, I live close beside the bat- 
tery, and will with my own hands fire off the guns, 
yes, and find the powder and load them, too, if need be. 
You won’t forget about the flags, General Warren, and 
the joy-bells ? ” 

“We will arrange everything, madam, in the man- 
ner most fitting to do honor to your noble husband.” 


372 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“And to yourselves, gentlemen. Good-morning to 
you all.” 

And so it came about that when the privateer 
schooner Wasp sailed into Plymouth Harbor, bringing 
Simeon Samson and the clock he had carved at Fort 
Cumberland, the battery on Cole’s Hill was manned, and 
among the rest two old guns from the Fort upon Bury- 
ing Hill, which Myles Standish had fired many a time 
and oft, and loved as his own children, roared out their 
hoarse note of welcome to the great-grandson of the 
veteran as he came home in honor, wearing the sword 
that Dawson had refused to receive, and with his tat- 
tered ensign waving above his head ; for England, who 
loves a brave and audacious man even as did her maiden 
queen, had treated her foeman in this case as might 
Sydney, or any other paladin of chivalry, and sent him 
home with no sign of defeat. 

Answering to the war-worn ensign a gorgeous banner 
flew to the top of the staff cresting the house on Middle 
Street, and Samson, who had fixed his expectant glass 
upon that roof, cleared his throat as it floated joyously 
out and muttered : “ God bless you, Deb ! ” 

But it was all too much for Myles’s guns. Old folks 
do not bear much excitement, or strong emotion, and 
before the last salute they both had burst their hearts, 
and never spoke again. 


CHAPTER XL. 


madam winslow’s armchair. 

Successful endeavor, as we all know, brings the 
opportunity for fresh exertion, and Captain Simeon 
Samson had hardly eaten the dinner and modestly 
returned thanks for the ovation proffered him by his 
townsmen, when he received his appointment to the 
brig Hazard, and soon after to the Mercury, a ship 
built for Congress by Mr. John Peck, grandson of that 
widow Jackson who lived in the Spooner house on 
North Street, and kept in it a chocolate shop of lasting 
fame. Mr. Peck’s shipyard was at the foot of Leyden 
Street, and is now covered by a garden. 

Finally, to Deborah’s huge satisfaction, her husband 
took command of the Mars, the Colony’s most impor- 
tant war-vessel, and in it not only carried dispatches 
and envoys to Holland and France, but captured some 
important prizes, among others the British flag-ship 
Trial. 

The very last time that he sailed out of Plymouth 
as commandant of a war-ship, he met with one of those 
curious coincidences which help to buttress the truism 
that truth is stranger than fiction. 

Languidly fanned outside the Gurnet by a dying 
breeze, the Mars found herself within hail of a schooner 
laden to the water’s edge, and carrying a very singular 
appendage over her stern board in the shape of a huge 


374 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


square package carefully enveloped in oilcloth. The 
stately figure of a gentleman dressed in the elaborate 
style of the day stood motionless upon the tiny quarter 
deck, while sailors, black servants, livestock, and many 
crates, boxes, and barrels sunk the schooner almost level 
with the water. 

“ The late Collector’s craft, is n’t it, Dyer ? ” asked 
the captain in a low voice of his first lieutenant, as they 
stood at the head of the companion-way. 

“ Yes, Captain. He ’s bound off for good. Got a per- 
mit from the Provincial Government to remove to New 
York, where they say Governor Clinton has given him 
a position worth £200 a year, with fuel and rations.” 

“Yes, I heard it. I would have delayed a tide 
rather than run foul of him, feeling as he must feel to- 
day. A Winslow running away from Plymouth Pock 
because he can’t breathe the air of Liberty is but a 
sorry sight.” 

“ Most as bad as a Standisli turning timid,” said 
Dyer, not unwilling to flatter his commander. 

“ That ’s a sight never seen yet, call it Standish or 
Samson,” replied Samson, with the simplicity of ac- 
knowledged heroism. “ But what is that the schooner 
carries astern, like the bag of a honey-bee ? ” 

“ Something of the same nature, Captain,” replied 
Dyer, laughing grimly, “ for it ’s the provision for a 
rainy day. It ’s one of those great square stuffed arm- 
chairs women love to cover in white dimity and set in 
the spare bedroom, and Madam Winslow thought it 
would be a tidy place to store away her silver teapot 
and such like matters, so she ripped off the cover, pulled 
out the horsehair, and stuffed the back and sides with 
pretty much all the silverware and trinkets that they ’ve 


MADAM WINSLOW’S ARMCHAIR. 375 


kept through all their troubles. To be sure they ’ve a 
safe-conduct, but I suppose she fancied the privateers 
might not respect it, so ” — 

“ And did she take you into her confidence, lieu- 
tenant, or how did you pick up this wonderful story ? ” 

“ It all came out through Betty Kempton, who has 
for years done Madam Winslow’s extra sewing and 
odd jobs, and so being called upon to help re-stuff and 
re-cover the armchair, she knew all about it. She swore 
by all that ’s holy not to tell the secret, but you know 
what a woman’s tongue is, Captain, and she did n’t sleep 
till she ’d sworn three others to secrecy, and one of 
them told it to me, advising that we should capture the 
armchair and divide the booty.” 

“ That woman ought to have been towed out of port 
astern of the stern-load,” remarked the captain. “ Do 
you remember, Dyer, that it was on the first day of our 
first cruise in the Independence we spoke this same 
craft ? The old wives would say ’t is an omen this will 
be our last cruise.” 

And the captain laughed scornfully, and yet with a 
latent thrill of that superstition somehow engendered by 
the sea. 

“I wish she had got away instead of lying by to 
cross our course,” replied Dyer, in the same tone. 
“ Shall I hail?” 

“Yes, hail — no, give me the trumpet. I want to 
show all the consideration we can to the old man.” 

“ Ahoy ! What schooner is that ? ” 

“ The King’s Own, bound for His Majesty’s loyal 
town of New York. If you are a naval commander 
belonging to any honorable nation, I warn you that 
Plymouth, the port we have just left, is filled with a 


376 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


swarm of cowardly rebels to King George of England, 
whose company loyal citizens must escape, although they 
leave all behind them.” 

“ This is the ship-of-war Mars, belonging to the Pro- 
vincial Government, and is bound to protect all loyal 
citizens, especially if they sail under safe-conduct from 
the sovereigns of this country. A good voyage to you, 
sir, and a safe arrival.” 

And with a wind that caught her lofty royals, but 
refused to notice the schooner’s lowlier canvas, the 
stately ship swept on, carrying Simeon Samson and 
Dyer upon their last cruise. 

“ Eight bells, sir.” 

“ Make it so, and pipe the men to dinner.” 

Eight bells it was in Kingston woods that day, when 
Mary Clark, wife of Beniah, and mistress of his little 
farm, his rude cabin, and his horde of tow-headed chil- 
dren, glanced at the noon mark upon the floor, and seiz- 
ing a tin horn went to the door to summon her family 
to dinner. But with the horn half way to her lips she 
paused, .staring in amazement at a figure resting against 
one of the first trees in the wood-road leading from the 
cabin to the highway. It was that of a tall and slight 
young man, apparently very much fatigued, and yet 
irresolute as to pausing. A stranger of any sort was 
a rare and refreshing sight to Mary’s eyes, but this 
stranger was also young, good-looking, weary, and de- 
pressed, and the heart of the woman went out to him 
so genially that, dropping the hand holding the horn, 
she stepped down upon the turf, and moving slowly to- 
ward him smiled graciously, saying, — 

“ Good-day, young man. Was you a-coming to 
house ? ” 


our 


MADAM WINSLOW’S ARMCHAIR. 377 


Thus invited, the stranger approached, critically ex- 
amining the speaker out of a pair of keen hazel eyes, 
but seeing nothing more alarming than a gaunt, yellow, 
middle-aged woman, with hay-colored hair done up in 
a tight knot, and a smiling toothless mouth, he removed 
the cap from his curly brown locks, and bowing politely, 
said : — 

“ Good-morning, madam ! I am on my way to Plym- 
outh, and have missed my way in the woods. Can 
you tell me how to strike the highway from here ? ” 

“ Plymouth ! Why, I don’t seem to remember see- 
ing you down to Plymouth. Do your folks live there ? ” 
“ No — I’m going to engage as a sailor.” 

“ You don’t say ! Why you don’t look very rugged, 
young man, and I ’m most afraid it ’ll be too much for 
you. Was your folks willing to let you go ? ” 

“ They don’t know it yet. I am going to write as 
soon as I know where I shall be. I am going to ship 
aboard the Mars, Captain Simeon Samson’s new ship.” 

“ Well, now, you don’t say ! I declare for ’t, I ’m 
’fraid you won’t stand it ” — 

“ Will you please tell me the road to Plymouth ? ” 

“ Good land, you can’t go no further before dinner. 
There, I most forgot the vittles is cooling on the table.” 

And raising the horn, Mrs. Clark blew a peal loud 
and long, resulting almost immediately in a descent 
from all directions of the tow-headed children, and 
among them a slow and lumbering man, whom the host- 
ess called “ he,” and who welcomed the stranger with 
that slow and grave hospitality habitual to men living 
much apart from their kind. 

“ There, set up and eat, — set up, Mr. — what name 
shall I call you ? ” 


378 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ My name is Robert, — Robert Shurtliffe, madam.” 

“ Shurtliffe — well, there was Shurtliffes over Mid- 
dleboro’ way — Jim, you keep your spoon out o’ the 
vittles till your pa and the stranger ’s got some. Sail 
right in, Robert, and get your share.” 

So adjured, the stranger, drawing his stool close to 
the table, took one of the horn spoons laid ready, and 
joined without ceremony in the attack upon a mountain 
of string beans, interspersed with bits of salt pork cut 
into mouthfuls, and forming the dainty bits of the feast. 
Beans and pork were heaped in a large wooden bowl, 
set in the middle of the table, and neither plates, knives, 
forks, nor other conveniences of the table were visi- 
ble. A stone pitcher of cider with a pewter mug stood 
at one end of the table, and a wooden trencher with 
some pieces of rye-and-indian bread at the other ; and 
such as it was, the meal was a feast, for string beans 
were not always to be had, and dried ones were no 
rarity. 

Robert Shurtliffe, however, had often eaten as rude a 
meal, for this was the ordinary style of dining among the 
poorer classes of his day, especially in rural districts, and 
as he was very hungry, he secured his share of the beans 
and the bits of pork which, but for their mother’s vigi- 
lance, would all have been gobbled by the children, and 
finishing with a hunch of the brown bread and a good 
draught of cider, declared himself so refreshed as to be 
again ready for the road. 

“Well, now, you hold on a minute, Bob,” exclaimed 
the hostess, as this resolution was declared. “Father, 
be you going to use the horse this afternoon ? You 
know I was talking some of going down to trade my 
yarn for sugar and stuff, and I ’d jest as lief take this 


MADAM WINSLOW’S ARMCHAIR. 379 


feller along, and Johnny, he can trot down afoot, and 
come home with me.” 

“ Dunno ’bout lettin’ you go off with such a smart 
young chap all alone,” replied the husband, with a slow 
grin of rustic humor. “He might steal you and the 
horse too, and I should miss the horse consid’able ! ” 

When was a woman too gaunt, too labor-worn, or too 
toothless to refuse an implied confession of her power 
over the other sex ? And Mrs. Clark washed herself with 
soft soap, combed and flattened her sparse hay-colored 
hair, and donned her linseywoolsey gown, her buckled 
shoes, and her green silk calash, with a happy simper 
upon her toothless mouth that went far to revive its origi- 
nal comeliness. 

Dobbin, astonished at some vague attempt to cleanse 
and smooth his ragged pelt, was brought to the door, a 
pillion attached to the back of the saddle, and with the 
happy simper expanded to a blithesome grin, Mary Clark 
was swung to her seat by her husband’s stalwart arm, 
and immediately folded her own around the waist of the 
gallant young cavalier already in the saddle. 

“ There, don’t hug the fellow too hard, old woman ! ” 
exclaimed the farmer, with a hoarse laugh and a sugges- 
tive smack upon Dobbin’s flank that left its impress in 
dust upon that worthy animal’s hair, and induced him 
to move stiffly toward the road, where he presently was 
urged into a heart-breaking trot, not so rapid but that 
Johnny easily kept up with him, the boy’s little brown 
feet patting luxuriously along in the soft dust, in gentle 
harmony with the thud of Dobbin’s heavy hoofs. 

“ Want to go to Cap’n Samson’s, do ye ? ” asked the 
modern Dejanira as her cavalier made known his des- 
tination. “Well, that’s right down King Street, that 


380 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


they ’re trying to remember to call Middle Street since 
we ’re off with the king and the tea-tax. There, right 
down North Street here, and round Cole’s Hill ; the 
Cap’n lives last house on Middle Street, to’rst the hill, 
where he can glimp the harbor as often as he ’s a mind 
ter. There, here we be, and that’s the house, and 
that ’s Mrs. Samson up a-top the ruff, a-haulin’ down 
her flag. Well, Bob, I ’m real glad to have met you, 
and I’ve enjoyed my ride firstrate. Good-by, and 
thank you “kindly for your company, and I ’ll not forget 
you in a hurry. Jump up, Johnny.” 

“ And, Johnny, here ’s a sixpence for you to buy some 
nuts or figs, if you like ; and, Mrs. Clark, will you take 
this ribbon that I chanced to have in my pocket, and 
make a breastknot of it to wear in memory of the poor 
sailor lad you treated so kindly, and who won’t forget 
you ? No, no, no thanks. Good-by, madam, good-by.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 

The house door stood wide open, as house doors in 
Plymouth always did in the good old times, and Robert 
Shurtliffe, wishing to escape from the somewhat effusive 
thanks of his late hostess, walked in somewhat hurriedly, 
and gravitating by instinct toward the kitchen, entered, 
looked about, and attracted by the open window, crossed 
toward it, and stood looking out at the glowing flower- 
beds, until a quick yet decided footstep came hurriedly 
down the stairs, only divided by a bulk-head from the 
kitchen, and Deborah Samson paused upon the lowest 
step to stare in astonishment at the tall stripling, who in 
some confusion turned and bowed. 

“ Why, who is this ! ” exclaimed she, slowly stepping 
off the stair. 

“ I have come to see Captain Samson, madam. You 
are no doubt his wife.” 

“ Yes, and I have but now lost sight of the topsail of 
the Mars, as she took my husband out to sea.” 

“ Sailed ! Has the captain sailed ? ” 

“ He has, young man ; sailed just before noon to-day.” 

“ Oh, the luck of it, the luck of it ! ” And the young 
fellow strode up and down the room, clenching his fists 
and grinding his teeth, but not swearing. 

“ Why are you so put about ? What was your busi- 
ness with Captain Samson ? ” demanded Deborah, in 
astonishment. 


382 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ Why, I’ve traveled fifty mile to sail with him. I ’m 
bound to fight the British, and of all commanders that 
step I ’d rather sail and fight under Samson than any 
other.” 

“ And you ’re right, my lad, if hard knocks are what 
you ’re looking for. There ’s fighting to be had by 
those who sail under Simeon Samson’s flag,” replied the 
wife, proudly, and then she added in a gentler tone : 
“ Indeed, I ’m sorry for you, young man, for you ’ve 
missed a rare chance. The Mars is the Colony’s best 
ship and Samson ’s not its worst commandant, so you ’ll 
hardly find another voyage to your mind after losing 
that. Do you come from far ? ” 

“ Bridgewater way,” replied the youth, briefly. “ I 
suppose my best plan now will be to get a passage up to 
Boston, and ship from there.” 

“ Why, yes, I suppose so, but for to-night you ’d better 
stop here. I won’t say in my house, because of the 
speech o’ people, and Plymouth women’s tongues are 
hung in the middle, so that both ends can wag ; but 
S’uth’ard Howland will put you up for nothing if you ’re 
a soldier or a sailor on the right side, and I ’ll give you 
your supper and breakfast, or, if you like it better, I ’ll 
take you along with me to a supper and a sing and 
maybe a dance over T’other Side. They ’ve had a 
quilting bee this afternoon and I was to go, but so long 
as the sky-scraper of the Mars was above the horizon, 
my flag and I held our post a-top of the house. But 
now he ’s gone, and I feel more than a bit lonesome, I 
thought I ’d step over, — I love to hear the folks talk 
about the cap’n, and that ’s a fact.” 

A flush of pride overspread the comely face of the 
captain’s wife, and the guest impulsively cried : — 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 383 


“ To belong to such a man as that is better than to be 
a man yourself.” 

“ I don't believe a man ever thought that way be- 
fore," replied Deborah, laughing a little shamefacedly. 
“Well, will you take up with my offer, — and what 
name may I call you, young man ? ” 

“Robert Shurtliffe, at your service, madam, and I 
shall be very thankful to go with you to the dance, for 
I love it amazingly." 

“ Oh, the dance — well, I was not laying out to stop 
for that. Now my husband ’s gone, it behooves me to 
be more than prudent, and truth to tell, when your 
heart ’s away your feet are shod with lead. Rut I ad- 
mire to hear ’em sing over there ; they reel off those 
old fuguing tunes as easy as I ’d reel off a skein of yarn. 
There ’s Jesse Churchill, and Andrew Crosswell, and 
Sam Sherman, and Billy Bartlett, that lead the sing- 
ing in meeting since we ’ve concluded ’t ain’t wicked to 
praise the Lord in tune, ’stead o’ braying at Him like 
dumb cattle or jackasses, and then there ’s a lot o’ the 
folks come in on a chorus ; and I do feel as if it would 
be sort of comforting to me to-night to hear how 

‘ On cherub and on cherubim, 

Full royally He rode ; 

And on the wings of mighty winds 
Came flying all abroad.’ 

It ’s good hearing for a sailor’s wife that there ’s One 
in the winds that can furl ’em as easy as a good crew 
can furl a tops’l in fair weather.” 

“ Yes,’’ replied the visitor, softly, so softly that Debo- 
rah looked keenly at him, and said : — 

“You ’ve a tender heart as yet, my lad, and you ’ll be 
none the worse a sailor or a fighter for it. My Sim ’s 


584 DR. LeBARON AND BIS DAUGHTERS. 


as tender as a woman when he ’s o’ mind to be. But 
there — what did you call your name ? ” 

“ Robert Shurtliffe, mistress.” 

“ Why — it seems as if I ’d heard that name — 
Robert Shurtliffe, Shurtliffe, — Shurtliffe ? Yes, I ’ve 
heard it sure.” 

“ ’T is a common name enough in some parts of the 
country. May I wash and brush some of this dust 
away before we go to the da — the sing ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. Step right out in the hack kitchen. 
Here ’s water and soap, and there ’s a bunch o’ broom for 
your clothes, and you can button the door if you ’ve a 
mind, though there ’s nobody in the house but me, for 
the children are all away till bedtime. I could n’t bear 
having them under foot while I was seeing their father 
off, so he kissed ’em good-by as soon as the breakfast 
dishes were done up, and then Lydia, that ’s my oldest 
girl, took little Patty and went over to the Goodwins’ to 
spend the day, — Lydia ’s a good girl and I shall miss 
her terribly when she marries Billy Goodwin, and I sup- 
pose it will be before her father comes home, — and 
Deb and the boys went over to Ponds to spend the 
day and night with Dominicus Hovey’s young folks, son 
of old Parson Hovey that you may have heard of ; — 
but there, go and have your wash, and I ’ll step into the 
bedroom and get ready. Strange how that name, Rob- 
ert Shurtliffe, runs in my brain.” 

The guest smiled but said nothing, and a little later 
hostess and guest set forth upon their long walk, Mrs. 
Samson latching the house door as she came out, with 
the remark, — 

“ Seems kind of unfriendly to shut the door, but dogs 
and cats will stray in if I leave it open. Lyddy ’ll be 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 385 


along pretty soon to put Patty to bed, and I think like 
enough Billy ’ll come along to keep her company till I 
get home.” 

“ Is Billy Goodwin grandson of the old French doc- 
tor ? I heard that his daughter married a Goodwin,” 
said Shurtliffe. 

“ Well, the 4 French doctor ’ was the old original Dr. 
LeBaron, dead and gone these many years. He had a 
son, Dr. Lazarus LeBaron, that is the one you mean, I 
guess, and he had a daughter, Lyddy, who married Nat 
Goodwin, and Billy is their son, and grandson of Dr. 
Lazarus, you see.” 

“ Dr. Lazarus and one of his daughters, but not that 
one, used to come over to Plympton to see some folks 
I knew when I was a little boy,” said Shurtliffe, and 
his hostess eyed him attentively by the failing summer 
twilight as she asked : — 

“ Folks by the name of Shurtliffe ? ” 

“ No, it was — why, now I think of it, ’t was the same 
name as yours, the name of Samson.” 

“ Yes, the widow of Jonathan Samson,” replied Deb- 
orah, quietly. “ They were cousins of my husband, and 
I know all about them. Jonathan was wronged out of 
the property left him by his father, but while he was 
away his sister’s husband got hold of it and never let it 
go again. So Jonathan ran away from his troubles, 
and his wife broke down under them, and had to put 
her children out. There were two boys and a girl, but 
what were their names now ? Seems to me the girl was 
named Deborah, like me” — 

“ The Samsons have never been a very lucky family,” 
interrupted Robert Shurtliffe, rather abruptly. “ Did 
you ever hear of uncle Jedediah, that is he ’d be your 


386 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


husband’s uncle Jedediah, who had a farm that come to 
him from his own father, and was living on it there in 
Plympton, when along came Consider Howland, and 
said that land was entailed on him by his father, 
Thomas Howland, and the law was with him and he 
took it, leaving poor uncle Jed homeless ? ” 

u Yes, the Howlands love land, and don’t love to let 
go of it. You seem to take a good deal of interest in 
the Samsons, young man.” 

“ Well, yes, I knew them pretty well. I guess that ’s 
the house we ’re going to, is n’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, looks like they had a good many folks there 
already, but I imagine there ’ll be room for us. Come 
in this way. Here ’s Mrs. Churchill, now.” 

“ Well, there, Deborah, I ’m dreadful glad to see you. 
We began to be afraid you wa’n’t coming; and this is a 
friend of yours ? ” 

“ Yes, a cousin of ours come to sail with the captain, 
but got here a little too late,” replied Deborah with a 
keen side-glance. “Robert Sliurtliffe, he calls himself, 
and, Robert, this is Mrs. Churchill.” 

“ Very glad to see you, sir, and much obliged to Mrs. 
Samson for bringing you. There ’ll be some dancing 
after a while, and the girls will be pleased enough to 
have such a fine new beau.” 

“ I will do my best to foot a reel or so, madam, 
though I ’m afraid a poor country bumpkin like me will 
cut a poor figger among such genteel young ladies as I 
see here.” 

Now ‘ beau,’ and ‘ figger,’ and ‘ genteel,’ were touches 
of elegant verbiage in those days, and this little colloquy 
partook of “ Shakespeare and the musical glasses,” quite 
as much as an esthetic discourse upon hypnotism or 
Browning would to-day. 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 387 


“ Come out and have some supper first of all,” pur« 
sued the hostess, her jolly sides shaking with comfort- 
able laughter. “ They ’re just setting down, and you 
shall have a place next the prettiest girl in the room, 
Mr. Bumpkin, as you call yourself.” 

And with a little elbowing, a little joking, and an 
illustration of the sporting maxim that “ weight tells,” 
Mrs. Churchill made a passage through the merry 
crowd, and ushered her guests into a delightful kitchen 
extending across the whole rear of the farmhouse, its 
eastern side pierced with four wide and low casements, 
opening upon the sea and Manomet, and its western, 
with two huge cavernous stone fireplaces, each provided 
with a “ mantle-tr’e ” full of candlesticks and such mat- 
ters, with a brick oven, and with full sets of andirons, 
fire-irons, cranes, pot-hooks and trammels, benches within 
the fireplace, and great oaken settles beside them. At 
either end of the hall-like room rose a great dresser, its 
shelves glittering with pewter and delf ; and two doors 
opened into two pantries replete with dainties. 

Time had been, in the bygone days, when a partition 
dividing the two fireplaces and the four casements had 
secured a separate domain to each of the wives of two 
brothers then owning the house ; but now, brothers and 
wives had every one obtained a still more personal and 
secluded dwelling place, and the heirs, becoming one 
family, had thrown down the partition and secured to 
themselves an ideal kitchen for such an occasion as the 
present. 

An improvised table running down the centre of the 
room creaked and groaned dismally beneath the weight 
of such a feast as the weaklings of to-day could neither 
provide nor consume, many of whose dishes are now 


388 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


obsolete, and many more only to be thought of with a 
dyspeptic shudder, as for instance the two little roast 
pigs couchant in two big pewter platters at either end 
of the table, the one with an ear of corn in his mouth, 
the other with a big red apple. Between these were a 
mighty home-cured ham, a mountain of brawn, a pig’s- 
head cheese, composed of the gelatinous portions of the 
pork, chopped fine, seasoned highly with spices and 
herbs, and then hardened in a shape of quivering jelly, 
ornamented with thin rings of beets and carrots, orange 
peel, and sprigs of parsley. Besides these adaptations 
of “the friend of man,” there was a round of beef 
k-la-mode, and a pair of those tongues which our ances- 
tors never failed to remind their guests “ never told a 
lie ; ” then there were platters of hot “ simballs,” pies 
like the daisies in a June meadow, a stalwart cheese, 
short-cakes, buttered toast, and lighter matters without 
count. Around this abundant board the guests were 
seated in relays, the older and more honorable having 
the first places, and among these Mrs. Samson soon 
found a chair, while the hostess, leading her younger 
guest to a group of merry girls, plucked the prettiest 
by the sleeve, saying : — 

“ Here, Hetty, this is a young gentleman who is going 
to fight the British for us — Mr. Robert Shurtliffe, a 
cousin of Captain Samson’s. Make much of him, and 
see that he gets some supper. My daughter Hetty, Mr. 
Shurtliffe.” 

Thus launched, we may be sure that our handsome 
recruit responded to the challenge, and made himself 
amazingly popular with the girls, while the young men 
soon regarded him with scowling envy. 

The last detachment of the young people was still 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 389 


at supper, when from the “ fore-room ” arose the wail 
of a violin, the guttural complaint of a bass-viol, and 
the sharp remonstrance of a pitch-pipe, to which, after 
many efforts, the stringed instruments adapted them- 
selves, and the whole sounded a chord of satisfied har- 
mony. 

“ Parson Robbins has come, and had his supper, and 
now the sing is beginning, Robert Shurtliffe,” announced 
pretty Hetty to her guest. “ Had you rather go in and 
listen, or stay here, and when we ’ve cleared away the 
tables play Forfeits, and Pope Joan, and Ring-around-a- 
Rosy, and may be Kiss-in-the-Ring ? ” 

“I’d rather play Kiss-in-the-Ring with you, Miss 
Hetty, than do anything else I can think of,” replied 
the sailor, and black-eyed Sally Dunham exclaimed : — 

“ There, you ’ve got your answer now, Hetty, and I 
hope you ’re satisfied.” 

“ You ’re not satisfied because he did n’t say you,” 
cried Sally’s brother, with a loud guffaw, and, thus art- 
lessly expressing the very same passions and sentiments 
which are more or less artfully concealed in the politest 
circles of to-day, those young people enjoyed themselves 
mightily, and felt that the world and its history began 
and ended in their own experience. 

Deborah Samson, ensconced in the darkest corner of 
the fore-room, and almost hidden by the portly figure 
of Mrs. Betsey Crombie in a big armchair, allowed her- 
self the rare indulgence of self-surrender to emotion, 
and closing her eyes pictured a great vessel plunging 
on through the darkness into unknown spaces, the hiss- 
ing brine thrown into angry furrows by her sharp 
prow, and a foaming wake stretching behind, back, 
back even to Plymouth Harbor, a bridge whereon true 


390 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 

hearts might send messages of faithful love across 
leagues of silent sea. The pungent smell of the mak- 
ing tide came floating in at the open windows, and the 
sound of the surf upon “ the back o’ the beach ” smote 
in grand diapason through the stringed harmony of the 
instruments. Deborah closed her eyes, and from be- 
neath the lids great tears welled out, and ran unheeded 
down her cheeks. Not three such hours came to that 
long life of activity, struggle, and aggressive warfare, 
but when they came, they made an impression beneath 
which Laura Matilda, weeping daily over her rose-water 
novel, would be crushed into nothingness. 

u Oh, shepherds, have you seen 
My Flo-oh-ra pah-ah-as this way ? ” 
inquired the choristers in mellow and well-tuned voices 
of the audience, and then the summons to follow the 
“ Merrymerrymerry mer-er-ery horn ” 
was sounded loud and long, and then came a new song 
of Dibdin’s, with a chorus to which the parson did not 
disdain to add his own harmonious and well-trained 
voice. And then, breaking upon the sweet reverie of 
the sailor’s wife, came a grand burst of concerted mel- 
ody, the fugue for which she had made petition of Jesse 
Churchill before hiding herself. 

“ The Lord descended from above n 
chanted the four men’s voices in perfect harmony ; and 
then the sweet tenor alone told how — 

“ On cherub and on cherubim, 

On cher-r-rub and on cher-r-rubim, 

Full royally He rode ; ” 

and then the basso declared — 

“ And on the wings of mighty winds 
Came flying fly-igh-ing all abroad.” 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 391 


And now came in the fugue, where every part caught up 
the melody, toyed with it, flung it to another, chased 
each the other like lambs at play, insisted each upon its 
own independence, yet in the end embraced each other 
in loving accord and finished with a grand burst of con- 
certed harmony that rolled out triumphantly to crown 
old ocean’s Benedicite omnia opera Domini , and the 
night wind, and the soft breath of flowers, and the 
song of the stars in their courses, that Music of the 
Spheres, which Stanleys of the world of science tell us 
undoubtedly surrounds us, but which our senses are 
too limited to apprehend. 

So glorious and stirring were the last notes that Deb- 
orah roused herself, and peeping out from behind her 
screen printed upon her memory a picture that always 
recurred with the deeper sentiments of the scene. The 
musicians were grouped in a corner, the violin standing 
and reading his music from a desk, while the bass viol, 
crouched behind him, appeared like a familiar spirit, in- 
spiring the basis of the melody by unseen means. A 
group of candles upon a little shelf flickered and gut- 
tered in the night wind, and cast their fitful light upon 
the silvery heads of two old men seated close together 
and holding between them one of those short wide vol- 
umes of sacred melody, then newly in fashion and now 
nearly forgotten. They were called psalm-books rather 
than hymnals, because it was still considered profane to 
sing other than the sacred songs of David and the other 
psalmists in divine worship, and it was only after years 
of struggle that Parson Robbins, himself a musician, had 
persuaded his people to “ condescend ” either to Watts, 
or Tate and Brady, which collection the parson himself 
liked best. 


392 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


The other and younger choristers stood, each keeping 
a corner of his eye upon Churchill, who, pitch-pipe in 
hand, beat time, occasionally ringing the resonant steel 
against the edge of the music-desk. In front of this 
group, in the chair of state, sat Parson Robbins, comely 
and stately, dressed in a new suit of clerical black, a vo- 
luminous neckerchief of finest linen cambric, and a full- 
bottomed wig, whose powdered curls well set off his fresh 
color, handsome mouth, and mellow dark eyes. He too 
beat time, but only with one shapely finger of a remark- 
ably well-kept hand, which fell quite noiselessly upon 
the silken-hosed and well-turned leg crossed above the 
other. 

“ Good, good ! ” cried he, as the last notes floated 
out of the window, and the thrill of silenced strings 
vibrated faintly for an instant, then attenuated into 
silence. “ I could find it in my heart to wish such a 
glorious psalm of praise might so be sung in meeting 
on the Lord’s Day, but perhaps it would savor too much 
of carnal enjoyment. ” 

“ I don’t know about that, Parson,” boldly replied 
Jesse Churchill, called by his friends Apostle Jesse, be- 
cause he never doubted his own ability to preach and 
to exhort, to admonish and to upbraid, — qualities valu- 
able in their place, but so ill placed in this instance that 
some years later it became the parson’s painful duty to 
excommunicate Apostle Jesse, and declare him anathema 
maranatha in the most approved fashion. 

In the present instance, dreading perhaps one of the 
discussions wherein the apostle delighted, and which his 
pastor abhorred, the latter, blandly and vaguely smiling, 
interrupted its preamble with — 

“ Oh, Brother Churchill, have you yet practiced that 


A QUILTING BEE AND A SING. 393 

noble anthem of Mr. Handel’s of which I spoke to 
you ? ” 

u Yes, Parson, we propose to try it now. We have 
studied it considerable and, I think, can do it good jus- 
tice,” replied Churchill, the ambition of the musician 
conquering that of the orator. And so “ the sing ” went 
on, until the parson, rising, gave the signal for the with- 
drawal of the older and professing ” portion of the 
company, while from the great kitchen arose the joyous 
squeak of Dauphin’s and Prince’s fiddles, hitherto re- 
strained in deference to the more dignified music of the 
fore-room. 

“ Don’t carry off your cousin, Deborah,” said the hos- 
tess as the latter made her adieux. “ He ’s just begin- 
ning his good time, and we were young once ourselves. 
They ’ll keep it up till daylight, and then some of the 
boys will show him the way to your house, unless he ’ll 
stop to breakfast.” 

“ That ’ll suit him, no doubt,” replied Deborah, with a 
rather weary smile, “ and I ’ll go home with the How- 
lands and Hammatts. Good-night ; I ’m real glad I 
came, for I ’ve had a beautiful time.” 

And the protestation was more sincere than is some- 
times made on similar occasions. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


ROBERT SHURTLIFFE. 

Early the next morning, but yet not so early that 
Deborah Samson had not etched a good many little 
marks into her life’s work, Robert Shurtliffe, hardly the 
worse for a sleepless night, appeared at the house in 
Middle Street, and was presented to Lydia and Debbie 
and the little ones, a noisy and vigorous group, few of 
whom were destined to reach maturity, for in the “ good 
old times ” infant and childish mortality was really ter- 
rible, and had not our fathers been blessed with prodi- 
gious families the Anglo-Saxon population of this coun- 
try would have been exterminated even sooner than 
now appears likely. Deborah was a notable house- 
keeper, and her daughters were trained in the same 
good fashion. Morning naps were anathema in that 
household, and if one was attempted by the young folk, 
even after a night of revelry, the housemother’s broom- 
handle was heard clattering on the stairs, while her 
vigorous voice shouted up : — 

“ Come, girls, come ! Time enough for sleeping in 
the grave ! Get up now ! ” 

Another incitement to activity often used by her was 
more according to the frankness of that day than the 
reticence of this. 

“ Never ’ll get a husband unless you ’re smart,” she 
would say, “ not even if you stood a-top the house and 
hollered ‘ Fire,’ to draw the men together.” 


ROBERT SB UR TLIFFE. 


395 


But after the noonday dinner was eaten and cleared 
away, and the girls had gone to dress for the afternoon, 
the mistress of the house led her guest into the little- 
used front parlor, and carefully closing the door, mo- 
tioned him to a seat. 

“ I have something to say to you in private, my lad,” 
began she, drawing a chair close in front of him ; 
“ I ’ve thought out your name. Jonathan Samson left 
two boys and a girl, and the oldest boy was named Rob- 
ert Shurtliffe Samson, so that was the name I gave you 
last night, but when I thought of it more, I remembered 
that boy had blue eyes and reddish hair, and your eyes 
are hazel and your hair almost black, so you ’re not he, 
though you mean to pass for him. Nor you ’re not 
Ephraim, for he ’d be younger. Now tell me just who 
you are.” 

“ I ’m Simeon Samson’s cousin, and under his roof. 
Is n’t that enough ? ” 

“ Enough to make me treat you as well as I know 
how, and to keep you as long as you ’ll stay, but not 
enough to tell me whether I ’d best put you to sleep in 
the girls’ room or the boys’ to-night.” 

“ You mean to say ” — 

“ There, there, sit down, my dear, and keep all those 
vaporing airs for the British, if you ever meet them. I 
strongly suspect you ’re that very Deborah Samson who, 
after the battle of Bunker Hill, wrote to my husband 
and wanted to go sailoring with him to fight for her 
country. She was sixteen or so then, and now she ’d 
be about twenty, and I strongly suspicion she stands 
before me now.” 

“ Well, you won’t betray me, cousin Deborah,” replied 
the other, coolly ; “ and of all people in the world I think 


S96 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


I ’d soonest confess the truth to you, for right well can I 
see that you would do the very same thing yourself if 
you w'ere placed where I am.” 

“ You think so ? It may be you ’re right, child, and 
yet I ’d be loath to see my Lyddy in coat and breeches.” 

“ Lyddy has a father and a mother and a good home 
and a sweetheart, and I have none of them,” said the 
girl, bitterly. “ And something in my heart would not 
let me rest quiet feeding pigs and poultry, and churning, 
washing, and spinning, while my country called aloud 
to her children for help against the tyrant of England. 
Ever since I heard the cannon at Bunker Hill, and 
read of the glorious stand my brethren made there, and 
the death of Joseph Warren, and the ride of Paul Re- 
vere, and the noble deeds of young fellows no stronger 
and no braver than I, my heart has been resolved ; and 
at last, when I read my cousin Simeon’s glorious fight 
with Dawson, and of his successes since, I made up my 
mind I’d sail under him, and have my share of the 
glory, and had I but been six hours earlier in Plymouth, 
you never would have known that Robert Shurtliffe is 
no more than poor Deb Samson, the kitchen wench.” 

“ Nay, then, lass, ’t is better I should have been the 
one to find it out than the sailors aboard the Mars,” re- 
plied the older woman, gravely. “ But come now, child, 
for you ’re hardly older than my Lyddy, tell me the 
whole story and what you ’ve done and what you mean 
to do, and if I can find it in my conscience to help you, 
I ’ll do it. But be honest, my lass, be honest, or I ’ll 
have naught to do with you.” 

“ Well, then, cousin Deborah, I ’ll make a clean breast 
of it, and as for being honest, I ’ve no skill nor experi- 
ence in lying, for that ’s coward’s work, and if I was a 


ROBERT SHURTLIFFE. 


397 


coward I ’d not be here. Ever since I wrote cousin 
Simeon, just after Bunker Hill, I ’ve had my mind made 
up, but I could n’t do anything until I ’d served out my 
time there in Middleboro’ ; for you know I was bound 
out to Deacon Thomas until I was eighteen. They were 
kind enough to me, but they did n’t understand me or T 
them, and I always felt like a sea-gull the boys trapped 
and took off a joint of his wing and kept him in the 
barnyard. How I pitied that poor bird ! Pitied him so 
much that one day I wrung his neck and threw him to 
the pigs. If I could n’t have got away I should have 
wanted some one to wring my neck. But after I was 
eighteen and had my time, I taught school two winters, 
and worked summers for wages, and so got together a 
little money. Then this last winter I bought the wool, 
and spun and dyed and wove the cloth these clothes 
are made of, and I flatter myself ’t is a good enough 
piece of work.” 

“ Why, yes, ’t is as handsome cloth as one would wish 
to see,” replied Deborah, examining the texture and 
evenness of the fabric. “But how did you get them 
made?” 

“ Well, I said that Robert Shurtliffe, a relation of 
mine, was going to enlist ” — 

“ I thought you did n’t know how to lie,” dryly inter- 
posed Deborah. 

“ It was no lie, for I had already in my own mind 
borrowed my brother’s name, and is n’t he a relation of 
mine ? ” 

“Well — it ’s whipping the devil round the stump, if 
it is n’t a lie, but go on.” 

“ I told the tailor what I say, and I gave him the 
measures for Robert Shurtliffe, and he made the coat,” 


398 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


continued the girl, rather defiantly, “ and for the waist- 
coat and the breeches I stole the patterns from a tailor- 
ess that was working in the house, and when I had cut 
out the clothes and put back the patterns, I carried my 
work up on the hill where I stood to hear the cannon of 
Bunker Hill, and there I made them up, singing Yankee 
Doodle all the time, and stabbing a Britisher every time 
I put my needle through the cloth. Then a week or 
ten days ago I quietly put on my clothes, slipped out 
of the window before anybody was stirring, and after 
wandering about a little to try my new clothes, I came 
down here to ship aboard the Mars.” 

“ And now what will you do, lass ? ” 

“ Go to Boston in the packet to-morrow morning and 
ship for a sailor, or enlist for a soldier as soon as may 
be.” 

“ Well, if you’re bound to carry it out, and I won’t 
say but you’re right to follow your nature and work 
off some of the sea-gull in your blood, — if you ’re 
bound to make trial of yourself in this way, my advice 
is to ’list as a soldier. You ’re not thrown with your 
comrades as you ’d be aboard ship, where, in a crowded 
fo’cas’l, you could hardly keep your sex a secret ; and 
another thing, if you ’re found out, or wounded, or get 
sick of it, while you ’re ashore, you *ve only to say, 4 1 ’m 
a woman,’ or at worst to run away from manhood as 
you did from womanhood, to get out of the adventure 
in a moment, while at sea it might be months before 
you could come by a smock and petticoat. The more I 
think on ’t, Deborah, the less I like it, and the more I ’d 
hate to see Lyddy in your place, but since you ’re set on 
doing it, and are of age, and in no way bound to be said 
by me ” — 


ROBERT SHURTLIFFE. 


399 


“ Come, now, cousin Deborah, you ’re going back on 
what you allowed but now about the sea-gull blood and 
all. You might show a little kindness to a motherless 
girl, for your own girl’s sake.” 

“ Nay, Deb, if you take it that way — if you come 
to me as a motherless girl of my husband’s kin, I speak 
to you very different. Go away for a few days, and 
come back dressed as a modest maid, and I ’ll give you 
a home and a welcome, and be a mother to you, and 
keep you till some good man takes you to wife ” — 

“ I want no good man taking me to wife, and I want 
no petticoat, nor apron, nor dish-clout, nor to be tied by 
the leg in a barnyard ! I ’ve borne it all this twenty 
year, and I ’ll have no more of it. But thank you, 
cousin, for your kindly offer, thank you heartily.” 

“You’re welcome to the offer, and ’twas an honest 
one, but I ’d as lief you did n’t take up with it after all. 
I don’t well know how to care for sea-gulls, and my own 
chicks ar.e wild enough without such teaching.” 

“ But we ’re friends, cousin. Sure you won’t take 
back the kindness you ’ve showed.” 

And the strange girl caught the matron by both 
shoulders, and stooping from her lofty height, looked 
wistfully into the other’s eyes while tears gathered in 
her own. 

“ There, now, child ! You ’ve put on the hosen, but 
you have n’t put on the nature of a man. You must 
have some one to bid you have your own way, though 
you ’d never give it up if they bid you. You must be a 
rebel to womanhood, and yet you must be loved and 
petted because you are a woman. Nay, I ’ll put you to 
sleep neither with the girls nor the boys, for you ’ve the 
nature of neither, because you ’ve the nature of both. 


400 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


You shall sleep on the kitchen floor, and to-morrow you 
shall go ; but here ’s a kiss for you, poor girl, and a 
prayer that God will protect you from all evil and from 
your own silly self.” 

So the next morning Robert Shurtliffe went up to 
Boston in the packet, carrying with him a store of 
Captain Samson’s linen, and five dollars in money, 
besides the hearty parting kiss of the captain’s wife and 
daughters. 

William Goodwin was very jealous of the tender fare- 
well the young recruit took of pretty Lydia, but she did 
not know of the explanation that would have proved the 
antidote to such jealousy, nor could she understand her 
mother’s amusement thereat. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


HORATIO NELSON AND LUCY HAMMATT. 

Anatomists tell us that the more highly developed the 
organism of the living creature, the greater the capacity 
for pain ; and the scale of sensation ranges from the 
protoplasm we call jelly-fish up to the refined, sensitive, 
and introspective woman, who possesses probably the 
most highly developed capacity for pain to be found 
upon this globe. 

Lucy Howland Hammatt was a woman of this order, 
and she had lost her husband, and her place as head of 
his house, and nearly all the little fortune he and her 
father had left her, and she was not happy. It will be 
remembered that she was the mother of three children : 
Abraham, married to Priscilla LeBaron ; William, mar- 
ried to Hepzibah Barker of Nantucket, whither he had 
gone to live ; and Lucy, as yet unmarried, chiefly because 
she was so requiring, so sarcastic, and so haughty, that 
the young men were afraid of her. She it was, who, 
when Abraham, almost ruined by the collapse of the 
Continental currency, and by bad debts incurred in the 
war famine, came home one night discouraged, gloomy, 
and silent, save for a few words about the poorhouse 
and beggary, bitterly told her mother in the seclusion of 
her own bedroom that Abraham was groaning under 
the burden of their maintenance and hinting at their de- 
parture ; and finally persuaded the grieved and sensitive 


402 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


woman to write and offer a visit to her son William, 
who, with his rich wife and lucrative oil-business, was 
exceeding well to do, and had often urged his mother 
and sister to come and make their home with him. 

“And William is coming to Plymouth next week, 
and will take us with him,” continued Lucy, eagerly, 
“ so don’t say a word to Abr’am or Priscilla until we 
are all ready to go and my brother is here, and then 
tell Abr’am before William that you are going to relieve 
him of one burden, at least.” 

“ No, no, Lucy, I sha’n’t do it that way,” replied the 
mother, promptly ; “ one son is just as dear to me as the 
other, and I would no more hurt Abr’am’s feelings than 
I would Willy’s. I shall tell them that we ’ve concluded 
to accept some of Hepsey’s cordial invitations and make 
a little visit at Nantucket ; then we ’ll just leave the rest 
to shape itself as it will. It ’s not poor Abr’am’s fault 
if he ’s unfortunate, and Priscilla ’s been a good daugh- 
ter to me. And then — your father ’s waiting for me, 
up on Burying Hill.” 

And the widow hastily went away to her own room. 
A little later, the mother-heart, large and warm in her, 
led her downstairs again to the sitting-room, where she 
found her son standing over a portable mahogany desk 
which he had placed upon the table and opened ; now, 
with his hands in his pockets and his lips drawn to 
something between a rueful smile and a noiseless whis- 
tle, he stood regarding the parcels of banknotes neatly 
ranged side by side, and filling the entire desk. It was 
his wife’s dowry, paid by her father’s administrator in 
Continental currency, still legal tender, but so deterio- 
rated as to be worth little more than the paper it was 
printed on. 


HORATIO NELSON, LUCY HAMMATT. 403 


“ It was a scurvy trick, a scurvy trick, to make me 
take it,” Abraham was saying as his mother entered the 
room, and Priscilla, without raising her eyes from her 
knitting, replied in a voice of quiet sarcasm : — 

“We children each used to have a hen and sell the 
eggs to the house, but my hen never laid anything and 
brother Billy’s always laid two a day.” 

Quietly drawing back, the mother closed the door, and 
went softly upstairs again, sorry that she had heard 
what Priscilla did not mean to say before her. And 
the consciousness made her yet more desolate than she 
was before. 

The next day she gently made known her plan of 
returning to Nantucket with her son William and mak- 
ing a considerable visit to him and his wife, who had 
urgently invited her and Lucy to do so. 

Abraham, with that singular want of perception in 
matters of sentiment characterizing strong-natured, hon- 
est, and busy men, cheerfully indorsed the idea, thought 
and said that it would be a pleasant change for his 
mother, and completed the measure of his offenses by 
saying, with a slap on Lucy’s shoulder : “ And mayhap, 
Lu, you ’ll pick up a husband among those rich 
whalers.” 

“And so ease you of my support,” replied Lucy, 
bursting into a cold and bitter little storm of tears and 
running out of the room. 

“ Why. what under the sun ! ” — began her brother in 
astonishment, but behold, his mother had followed her 
daughter, and Priscilla, laughing in such a fashion that 
one wondered if it was not an unsuccessful attempt at 
crying, came and put her arms around his neck and her 
face on his shoulder, while she sobbed : — 


404 DR LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ You poor stupid darling ! It was the very, very last 
thing you should have said. Every bit of the fat ’s in 
the fire now, and you must just wait till it ’s burnt up. 
Then we can make a fresh start.” 

“Well, thank the Lord that you're all right, Pris,” 
replied her husband, with a groan, as he clasped his 
wife tighter with one arm, and with the other hand 
wiped his perplexed and moist forehead. 

“ Yes, dear, I ’m all right now, because I have you, 
and I ’m young, and it ’s I that order the house in my 
own fashion ; but, Abe, darling, if the time should come 
that I must live with our Willy’s wife, or any of the 
rest of them, I don’t doubt I shall feel just as mother 
does now. It ’s human nature, Abe, and women are 
very much alike after all.” 

“ Is it ? — but I don’t see why they need feel so,” 
murmured Abraham in masculine bewilderment, but 
Priscilla kissed him again, and his brow cleared. 

William came in April, and in July Abraham wrote 
his mother a letter which, after more than a century, is 
so fresh in its manly tenderness and honesty that it 
does one good to read it. 


Plymouth, 20 th July 1782 . 

Dear Mama, — I am surprised & disappointed to 
find by Lucy’s gloomy Epistle that you continue at 
Nantucket yet, without having even fix’d the time for 
coming off. 

We had all flatter’d ourselves that we should have 
seen you here before this time ; — remember D r 
Madam that winter approaches & Signify to the Squire 
your pleasure to return, who promis’d when he took you 
from us, that he would return you as soon as you was 


HORATIO NELSON, LUCY HAMMATT. 405 


willing ; if he cant come with you, it is better to come 
with somebody else, than to wait even one fortnight. 

Mrs. Thomas is the paler for y r absence, & Aunt 
Betty 1 will be sick if you dont prevent it by coming 
home. 

My wife and your little grand-daughter long to see 
you, others of your friends sincerely wish your return, 
and I do assure you there is no event within the com- 
pass of my expectation that I anticipate with half the 
pleasure. 

I ’ve the pleasure to inform you, that my Business 
increases ; I have two Apprentices who are both Spin- 
ners, four Tons of Hemp in my Loft, a prospect of 
more for the Winter & as much work as I can do in 
the Spring, so that I begin sometimes to expect better 
Days, & to see myself once .more in easy circum- 
stances, which I shall never consider myself as being in 
untill my Mama & Sister enjoy ease and Independence. 
Tell Lucy this, and persuade her to believe it ; tell her 
that I Love her heartily, that so far from its being a 
burthen, one of the first pleasures if not the very first 
that I promise myself from being in Business, is that I 
shall be able to contribute to her Ease & Happiness. 
I should have written her, but really have not Time, 
having wrote many Letters before this. I must now 
conclude & we shall all expect to see you both soon, and 
all join in Love to all of you. 

From your affectionate son, 

A. Hammatt. 

I suppose no mother ever lived who could have hard- 
ened herself against the sweetness, the strength, and the 
1 Two of Madam Hammatt’ s sisters. 


406 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


honesty of such an appeal, and some two weeks after 
its receipt Madam Hammatt, resisting both the tender 
entreaties of her son William and the more acid sug- 
gestions of her daughter Lucy, who found herself rather 
amused with the opportunity of refusing a good deal of 
solid, if oleaginous wealth, took passage in the schooner 
Harmony, owned in Plymouth by Captain Thomas Davis, 
and commanded by Captain Nathaniel Carver, of that 
town. 

The voyage was prosperous and promised to be short, 
when one morning between the Harmony and the rising 
sun arose the stately masts of a frigate, which presently, 
running the Union Jack to her mast-head, fired a gun 
across the bows of the schooner, at the same time mak- 
ing a graceful sweep that brought her up into the wind, 
while through his glass Captain Carver could make out 
hands already lowering one of the taut boats swinging 
from their davits on either quarter of the frigate. 

“No use to try either to fight or run, since for fight- 
ing I ’ve only my fists, and for running, sails big enough 
for a patch on his fo’s’l,” slowly remarked the Plymouth 
man, shutting up his old spy-glass, and setting his hat 
on the back of his head. “ Might as well lay to, Wash- 
burn. I hope he ’ll be civil to the women.” 

“ I ’ll pity him if he comes to close quarters with the 
gal ; she ’d scratch his eyes out ’fore you ’d say ‘ knife,’ ” 
replied Washburn, who had tried to make himself agree- 
able to Miss Lucy. 

In another half hour the crew of the launch had 
taken quiet possession of the Harmony, and the captain 
with his papers was about obeying the command of his 
captors, and presenting himself on board the frigate, 
when he stopped to say to the officer in command : — 


HORATIO NELSON, LUCY HAMMATT. 407 


“ There ’s an old lady and her daughter in the cabin, 
passengers for Plymouth. They are some of our most 
respectable people, and I hope you won’t let any of your 
men speak sa’cy or the like of that to them, and that 
your cap’n will set them ashore safe, whatever he ’s 
bound to do with the rest of us.” 

“ Make yourself easy, Captain,” replied the royal 
lieutenant, graciously. “We don’t fight women, and I 
don’t doubt Captain Nelson will see that they are set 
ashore as soon as possible.” 

“ Nelson is his name ? ” 

“Yes. Lieutenant-Commander Horatio Nelson, at 
present master of His Majesty’s frigate Albemarle. We 
are exploring the naval capacities of your coast, Master 
Carver, and find it more picturesque than navigable. I 
suppose you are familiar with this part of it.” 

“ I ’d ought to be, having sailed these waters, boy and 
man, for thirty years or more,” growled Carver, vaguely 
resenting the light badinage of the other’s tone. 

“ Just the man we want,” replied the lieutenant, as 
the launch grazed the frigate’s side. “ Will you step 
on deck, Master Carver ? ” 

Silently obeying, the prisoner found himself con- 
fronted by the slight but noble figure and the com- 
manding regard of one of the foremost heroes of the 
world’s history ; the man who fought so well the battles 
of a great nation, giving his life for her glory, and who, 
in his dying words, “ Kiss me, Hardy ! ” showed at once 
the strength and the weakness of his nature. 

But as yet the glory and the shame were hidden in 
the breast of the future, and the lieutenant-commander 
dreamed not of Lord Nelson’s fame. 

One glance of those penetrating eyes showed to this 


408 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


born leader of men the honesty and simplicity of his 
captive, and it was with something warmer than civility 
that he led him down into his cabin, ordered refresh- 
ments set before him, and then, with map and chart, 
questioned him closely as to the lay of the coast. 

“Well, it’s pretty intricate, is n’t it?” declared he 
at last. “ And I ’m afraid, Captain, I shall have to take 
your pretty little schooner as a tender, and keep you on 
board for a while as pilot. I am sorry to have to re- 
mind you of the fate of pilots attempting treachery 
under such circumstances.” 

Captain Carver meditated for a moment, turned the 
quid in his cheek, thrust his hands in his pockets and 
his heels as far as they would stretch out upon the pol- 
ished floor, and finally with the ruddy color perceptibly 
ebbing away from beneath the bronze of his cheek, he 
quietly said : — 

“ If you ’re going to ask me to pilot you into Plym- 
outh Harbor, with a view to attackting the town, Com- 
mander, you may as well string me up to your yard- 
arm first as last, for I won’t do it. But if all you want 
is to cruise up and down the coast, go and set on Co- 
hasset rocks by moonlight, try to get into Provincetown 
without scraping a shoal, or the like of that, why, if it ’s 
pilot you or hang, I ’d rather pilot you ; and if I say I ’ll 
do it, I ’ll do it honest, for that ’s the way we Plymouth 
boys are brought up by our mammys.” 

“Shake hands on it, Captain, shake hands,” said 
Nelson. “ And when I ’m looking for a Benedict Arnold 
I sha’n’t go to Plymouth for him.” 

“ Better not, Captain, for if you did you might catch 
a Tartar. Our folks have got kind o’ erritable in these 
days, and don’t like jokes on sore subjects.” 


HORATIO NELSON, LUCY HAMA1ATT. 409 


“ You ’re right, Carver, you ’re right, man, and I’m 
wrong,” said Nelson, stretching out his hand, which the 
other placably enfolded in a mighty grasp, while he 
continued in the same even tone : — 

“ There ’s one thing more, Captain. I ’ve got a couple 
of passengers aboard, gentlewomen, bound for Plym- 
outh where they belong. One of them is elderly and 
the other not so young as she once was. You ’ll set 
them ashore ? ” 

“Certainly. We ’ll stand as far into Plymouth Har- 
bor as you find safe, and then your crew shall take the 
ladies with their luggage and the men’s kits ashore in 
the schooner’s two boats. I suppose you can stand in 
far enough to make it safe both for the frigate and the 
boats, eh ? ” 

“ Lord, yes, on a flood tide and a fair wind it ’s safe 
for a boat anywhere inside o’ Manomet.” 

And thus it came about that on the 12th of August, 
1782, Madam Hammatt and her daughter Lucy with 
all their bandboxes were set ashore on Davis’ wharf, 
to the great admiration and excitement of their towns- 
folk, who crowded down to welcome and question them. 

A week or so later, Captain Nathaniel Carver him- 
self strolled into town by way of the Beach, at the back 
of which he had been set ashore in the early morning. 

So rose-colored was his report to his owner of his treat- 
ment while on board of the Albemarle, and of Captain 
Nelson’s manners and feelings toward the Americans, 
that Captain Davis, too good a business man to relin- 
quish his property even to the king, without an effort to 
retain it, took counsel with himself and his friends, and 
while the Albemarle still cruised in the offing as though 
loath to leave so fair a neighborhood, he borrowed a big 


410 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


boat, hastily loaded it with fresh meat, poultry, vegeta- 
bles, and fruit, and, accompanied by Captain Carver, put 
boldly out, past the Beach, past Saquish and the Gur- 
net, and standing over toward Manomet ran across the 
fore-foot of the frigate which, as if astonished at his au- 
dacity, swooped easily down upon him, and with her 
tower of snow-white canvas flattering in the wind, lay 
to, with an interrogation mark at each yardarm. 

“We’re in for it now, Carver,” said Captain Davis, 
softly, as the former deftly laid the boat alongside the 
Albemarle, “ and either we ’ll carry the Harmony home 
with us, or Discord will carry us to Dartmoor.” 

“ Nothing venture, nothing have,” growled Nathaniel 
Carver, and the two men mounted the ladder thrown 
over for their accommodation. On the deck stood Nel- 
son, who, with courteous smile and ready hand, welcomed 
his late prisoner and his owner, who after a few words 
of greeting made known his errand in the manly and 
straightforward fashion sure to gain the approbation of 
a man like Nelson. 

Not immediately answering his petition, however, the 
commander invited his guests to the cabin, where the 
steward presently laid a collation of such dried dainties 
as his larder afforded, the host remarking with a smile 
as he pressed one dish and another upon his guests, — 

“ For once I must be excused, gentlemen, from the 
duties of a host, and not offer you the best I have, 
merely informing you that some hampers of delicious 
fruit and vegetables have just come aboard, but as they 
are the gift of a friend I do not feel that I may part 
with them.” 

“ Not another word, Commander,” replied Davis, 
helping himself to some dried fruit. “ I ’d far rather 
have your figs than your grape-shot.” 


no RATIO NELSON , LUCY HAMM ATT. 411 


“ Good ! But you won’t refuse the juice of the grape, 
I trust,” replied Nelson, offering a bottle of port, not yet 
a traditional beverage. And so a pleasant hour passed 
by, and at the end Nelson received a private report 
from the officer of the watch, and inviting his guests 
on deck, pointed to the schooner which had been 
brought alongside, remarking good-humoredly, — 

“ And now, gentlemen, that we may part in perfect 
Harmony, allow me to restore the schooner, and present 
you with this certificate of release.” 

Perhaps one should apologize for presenting the hero 
of Trafalgar in the guise of a punster, but puns as well 
as port were still in fashion, and indulgence in the one 
naturally led to the other. The certificate, still extant, 
runs as follows : — 

These are to certify that I took the schooner Har- 
mony, Nathaniel Carver, Master, belonging to Plym- 
outh ; but on account of his good services, have given 
him up his vessel again. 

Dated on board His Majesty’s ship Albemarle, 17th 
August, 1782, in Boston Bay. 

HoifATio Nelson. 

“ Massachusetts Bay is n’t Boston Harbor,” remarked 
Captain Thomas Davis as he folded up the certificate 
and put it in his pocket, “but there was no mistake 
about Nelson’s port, eh, Carver?” 

And Carver, who did not perceive the play upon 
words, answered dryly : — 

“ The only mistake, to my mind, was that it wasn’t 
Santa Cruz rum.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


mother crewe’s last curse. 

Deborah Samson has said that the Howlands were 
fond of land, and the old records prove her judgment 
just. Travel southward by Watson’s Hill and Jabez* 
Corner toward Manomet, or northward by Rocky Nook 
toward Kingston, or wander hither and thither in the 
old town looking up the title-deeds of men’s estates, and 
everywhere you come upon the name of Howland, with 
John, Joseph, Thomas, Consider, or Thomas Southworth, 
as a prefix. They loved land, and they owned a great 
deal, first and last, but in the end lost all except the six 
feet apportioned to every one of them on Burying Hill. 
Naturally with the love of land came the love of primo- 
geniture, and before the Revolution, this, being English 
law, was the law of English Colonies, if any man cared 
to put it in practice. There is a tradition that Pilgrim 
John, although glad to come to the New World as 
squire to Governor Carver, was a cadet of the noble 
house since united with that of Bedford, whose duke 
still enumerates Baron Howland among his other titles. 
The tradition may, or may not, be well founded, but if 
true, explains in a degree this eminently patrician fancy 
for the rights of primogeniture, and excuses somewhat 
Consider Howland’s tyranny in seizing under the law 
of entail poor Jedediah Samson’s little farm and home- 
stead. 


MOTHER CREWE'S LAST CURSE. 413 


S’uth’ard Howland inherited, along with much land, 
the passion for entail, primogeniture, and the rest, and 
as the Revolution drew near its close, and it became evi- 
dent to all men that the reign of democracy, equal 
rights, and primitive justice was to rule in the embryo 
Republic, S’uth’ard began to look up the outlying nooks 
and corners of his estates, with a view to consolidating 
his titles in case they were to be questioned. 

One of these outlying nooks was a piece of woodland, 
some ten acres in extent, upon the Carver road, and after 
studying the deed which had given it to his grandfather, 
with a good deal more land, since disposed of, S’uth’ard 
one day rode out to view it, and arrange for its being 
staked off and fenced. The land was where he ex- 
pected to find it, but nearly in the centre stood a dilapi- 
dated and squalid cabin, with a thread of peaty smoke 
curling out of its lath-and-plaster chimney. 

“ What ’s this ! Who ’s trespassing on my property ? ” 
demanded S’uth’ard, angrily, of his companion, one 
Henchman, who combined the duties of bailiff, surveyor, 
amateur attorney, and confidential adviser to several of 
the landed proprietors of Plymouth, Howland among 
the rest. He was a useful little man in his way, but 
neither dignified nor comely, possessing a mean figure, 
red hair, squinting green eyes, and a squeaky false 
voice which he tried to make ingratiating, but only made 
repulsive. 

“ Why, this is the residence of Madam Crewe, Squire,” 
replied he now, with a sniggering laugh. “ Witch Crewe, 
they call her commonly ; she has resided here for some 
years, and I believe had this mansion erected ” — 

“ Stop your fooling, and tell me how it is I did not 
know she was still here ? ” demanded S’uth’ard, the veins 


414 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS . 


in his throat swelling, and the purplish flush that marked 
his wrath mounting to his forehead. 

“ Well, Squire, I must say it ’s a little unreasonable to 
make me accountable for your not knowipg anything,” 
replied Henchman, his own face turning green, which 
was his way of showing righteous indignation. 

Howland glared at him for a moment, but perhaps 
considering that it was better to turn his wrath into a 
more effective channel, he rode up to the door of the 
cabin, and with his whip-handle beat a summons, im- 
mediately answered, for the door flew open, and upon 
the threshold appeared the bent and decrepit figure of 
mother Crewe, leaning upon her staff, and with Milcom 
perched upon her shoulder. Great age had reduced the 
old woman’s flesh to the color and consistence of parch- 
ment, clinging to the bones of face and neck and hands 
much in the grewsome fashion of a mummy, while from 
the deep caverns, whither they had retreated, her eyes 
gleamed with malevolent energy, and her toothless jaws, 
silently working as she gazed upon her visitor, seemed, 
as they had years before, to be chewing the curses they 
would presently emit. 

“ W ell, man of violence and wrath, what do you 
want here ? ” demanded she, at length. Her voice 
broke the spell of perplexity and awe that had arrested 
Howland’s mood, as the wind from hidden icebergs will 
sometimes chill and check the boiling blood. 

“ What do I want ! ” demanded he. “ I fancy the 
question is, what do you want on another man’s prop- 
erty? Do you know this is my land, woman, and 
that you have no more right to put up a house here 
than you have to come and sit by my fireside ? ” 

“ Your fireside will soon be desolate, S’uth’ard How- 


MOTHER CREWE’S LAST CURSE. 415 


land, soon, soon ! The shadow is almost even with your 
lips, and it rises, — rises fast.” 

“ None of your witch-talk to me, woman,” replied 
Howland, involuntarily raising his hand to his face, sind 
seeming to brush away something. “ I ’m not to be 
frightened out of my rights in that way, I can promise 
you. I tell you again this land is mine, and I am going 
to fence it, and — may be cultivate it. At any rate, I 
don’t want a tenant on it, and you ’ll have to vacate, and 
that at once. This day week, the plough will be run- 
ning over the spot you stand on. You understand, do 
you, mother Crewe ? ” 

“ This day week, this day week, man of violence and 
wrath, they will dig your grave on Burying Hill. I 
see it, I hear it, I smell the fresh earth they throw out. 
Go, poor wretch, go make your peace, and set your 
house in order ; this day week, yes — the shadow rises, 
rises to your lips, — go ! ” 

She stretched out her claw-like hand, she raised her 
glittering eyes, and a strange shudder shook her frame 
from head to foot, while Milcom, standing upon her 
shoulder, his legs and tail stiffened like iron, and his 
green eyes ablaze, uttered a long wail of demoniac 
meaning. 

Terror, shame, superstition, and a thwarted will are 
powerful factors to work in a haughty and uncontrolled 
nature, and as they rose tumultuously in S’uth’ard How- 
land’s blood they heated it to such a point that the man 
lust all control of himself ; and lifting his clenched hand 
above his head he swore a terrible, a blasphemous 
oath, that before the next day’s sun should set, his land 
should be rid of this insolent intruder, her hovel should 
be leveled with the dust, and she herself, if she could 


416 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


be found, burnt as a witch, or driven from the town at 
the cart’s tail. 

Mother Crewe listened, and ever as she listened laid 
her ear to Milcom’s mouth as if from his wailings she 
gained counsel ; but when at last, choked with his own 
rage, and foaming at the mouth, Howland gasped into 
silence, the hag raised her bent form with a power none 
could have imagined remained in its sinews, and with 
glazed eyes seemed to look upon some scene pictured 
in the green gloom of the forest before her. Then 
slowly pointing, slowly tracing the outline of what she 
saw with a skinny finger, she said : — 

“ Carry him home — the gate will do — come wife — 
come sister — children — scream, cover your eyes — 
die, poor maid, broken by the curse on Ansel Ring — 
killed by the curse on S’uth’ard Howland — die, poor 
maid, for the sins of others ” — 

But at this moment, Howland, with a sort of scream 
of rage, uplifted his hand and tried to force his horse 
nearer to the door, for what purpose no one need to 
guess, for it was never accomplished, the horse rearing 
and plunging in such fashion that the rider’s atten- 
tion and wrath were presently absorbed by him, and 
before the contest was finished Mother Crewe had 
disappeared and the door was closed. 

“ Come away, Squire, come away ! ” exclaimed Hench- 
man, his green-hued cheeks and chattering teeth betray- 
ing a very real and absorbing terror. “ There ’s no 
credit and no profit in fighting witches. Come away 
and let her alone, she can’t live long, and she can’t 
hurt the land ” — 

“Hold your tongue, Henchman! Here, hold on! 
Here ’s a writ I got ready before I came, — a writ of 


MOTHER CREWE'S LAST CURSE . 417 


ejectment — here, go you, since this cursed brute won’t 
let me, go you and serve it on her, and tell her that at 
noon to-morrow I shall be here to take possession, with 
men enough to do my. bidding, and that by one hour 
after noon both she and her cabin will be gone. Tell 
her that, Henchman, and if she won’t open her door, 
make her hear it through her door, but see that she gets 
the writ. I ’ll ride on and cool my blood a little.” 

“ That ’s the best thing you can do,” replied Hench- 
man, a good deal relieved; and when he overtook his 
employer just at the Pilgrim Spring at the foot of 
Spring Lane, he reported, cheerfully, “ I could n’t get 
the old lady to open the door, but I bawled my message 
in at the crack, and shoved the writ under the door. 
I guess she ’ll make a moonlight flitting of it.” 

“ Whatever she does, see that you, with a couple of 
strong laborers, are at the corner of the wood-road turn- 
ing up to her hut at a little before noon to-morrow,” said 
Howland, sternly, and with a careless nod of farewell 
turned up the hill to the Town Square and so home to 
the pleasant old house where he had dwelt so many 
prosperous years. 

“ I was in hopes you ’d give it up, Squire,” said the 
bailiff in a low tone as the next day his employer drew 
rein at the spot where he on horseback with two stalwart 
fellows afoot rested in the shade of a clump of scrub- 
oaks, at the junction of the Carver road and the wood- 
path leading steeply up the hill and into the forest. 

“ I never give up anything,” replied Howland, taking 
off his three-cornered hat and wiping his crimson fore- 
head. 

“ A mortal hot day,” suggested Henchman, lightly. 

“ That old witch will find it so, for I ’ll burn her 


418 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


hovel over her head, if that ’s the only way to get her 
out of it. Come ! ” 

And the lover of land rode on, his mouth set in a 
hard, straight line, his eyes red and gloomy, his face 
flushed darkly. It was indeed a hot day, of that sti- 
fling and breathless quality of heat which comes in late 
summer and early autumn, the dog-day heat so rife with 
disease and lassitude, the air filled with a sullen yellow 
haze that, so far from tempering the sun’s raj^s, seemed 
to refract and intensify them to intolerable power, while 
not a breath of wind lent life to the solid strata of sti- 
fling woodland odors and the steam of the saturated 
masses of undergrowth. 

“ The bayberries smell like folks that ’s laid out,” re- 
marked one of the workmen who, with axe on shoulder, 
plodded along after Henchman, who suddenly turned an 
angry face upon him and hissed out, to his great sur- 
prise, — 

“ Hold your tongue, you fool ! ” 

But the Squire, riding silent and absorbed at the head 
of the little troop, heard nothing, or made no sign. 

Arrived in the clearing, Henchman looked anxiously 
at the hut, hoping to see some sign of surrender and 
vacation, but the thin column of peat-smoke curled up 
as before, the door was close shut, and nothing had 
been moved or altered. 

Closing his mouth still more rigidly Howland rode up 
to the door and struck it with his whip-handle, not now 
in the careless and impatient fashion of yesterday, but 
three solemn and menacing blows. 

Again the door fell open at his summons, and upon 
the threshold stood mother Crewe, with Milcom on her 
shoulder. For a moment the two regarded each other 


MOTHER CREWE'S LAST CURSE. 419 


silently, and the thick yellow air seemed to shut down 
upon them like a pall. 

“ Well, woman! You have had your summons, and 
you are not gone,” said Howland at length in a sup- 
pressed voice, whose every tone told of the wrath and 
determination kept down for the moment. 

“ My summons ! ’T is your summons that is in the 
air, man, and you will soon be gone. The shadow is at 
your lips, and with every breath you draw it in.” 

“ Enough, enough of this fool’s play ! ” burst out the 
man, his passion bursting bonds as the spring flood, lip- 
ping for a while at the barrier that seems to withstand 
it, suddenly raises its crest and with one wild cry of de- 
fiance sweeps away the strongest work of man as it 
would a child’s toy dam. 

“ For God’s sake, Squire, control yourself ! ” cried 
Henchman at last, even his feeble nature stirred to hor- 
ror at the other’s frenzy. “ Here, we ’ll end it all ! 
Men, pull the cabin down around the old witch’s ears ! 
You ’ve warrant for it — here goes!” And seated as 
he was on horseback the lawyer sent his heel against 
the shutter securing the window-place and drove it in. 
The men silently obeyed both word and example, the 
one whirling his axe around his head and making a 
breach in the chimney, and the other attacking the roof. 

Then the old witch once more raised herself to that 
terrible vigor of yesterday, — a supernatural vigor, as 
those who saw it felt and shuddered. 

“ Wait ! Hold your hands, you hirelings, while I 
speak to your master ! Man of violence, hear me. You 
have been warned, you have had a night for penitence, 
you had dreams — yes, I see them in your eyes now — 
well, in spite of them, in spite of all, you persist — you 


420 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


rush on your own destruction — the shadow is darken- 
ing your brain and heart, but still you persist — oh, 
man — one word, before it is too late — speak ! ” 

She raised her arm high above her head, the forefin- 
ger flickering like the tongue of a snake, and bursting 
with a fearful gasp the weight that seemed to paralyze his 
every power, Howland cried in a voice so hoarse and 
agonized as to be almost inarticulate : — 

“ Set fire to it ! Burn it ! Burn the witch and her 
house together ! ” 

“ Enough ! The measure is filled up, running over ! ” 
cried mother Crewe in terrible exultation. “ Man ! I 
curse you living, I curse you dying, I curse you here, I 
curse you hereafter ” — But why repeat the awful words 
at sound of which those strong men shuddered, and 
closing their ears retreated, leaving the curser and the 
cursed alone in that strange yellow light, that looked 
and felt like smouldering fire. Was it the woman or 
was it the cat that induced that final catastrophe, none 
can tell, but all at once, and when the foul flood of curses 
was at its height, Milcom sprang from his mistress’ 
shoulder to the flank of the irritable horse, already un- 
easy in the memory of yesterday’s struggle, and so drove 
him out of his senses that, with a wild cry and a bound 
of mortal terror, he broke from all control, and darting 
down the steep path was in a moment lost to sight. 

They followed him as fast as they could, and had not 
far to follow, for at the sharp turn where the woodpath 
joined the road, where they had waited for him a brief 
half hour before, they came upon S’uth’ard Howland 
lying beneath the scrub-oaks, like a man wearied with 
the heat of the day and turned aside to seek repose for 
a little. 


MOTHER CREWE’S LAST CURSE. 421 


The lawyer knelt down, looked at the eyes, laid a 
hand upon the heart, held a hair before the parted lips ; 
then he rose with a white, scared face, and turned to 
his men. 

“We can’t put him on a horse. Go find a gate — 
she said a gate ” — 

“ There ’s a gate down here a piece into the doctor’s 
woodlot,” said one man, edging toward the road. 

“ Go and get it, and mind you come back with it. 
No, stop, you ’d run away ; I ’ll go with you — come 
on!” 

And so the dead man lay there alone in the strange 
yellow light, when down the road hobbled mother Crewe, 
her cat gliding beside her, her staff in her hand. Be- 
side the dead man she paused a little moment, looking 
fixedly at his face, angry in its rigidity but with a 
ghastly yellow stealing over the purple flush of brow 
and cheeks. 

“ Ay, ay, it had to be, man, it had to be, and we shall 
meet before this time to-morrow. Better for you than 
me then, perhaps, but what has to be will be, for me as 
well as you.” And muttering and mowing, the old 
woman and her cat plunged into the woods and were 
gone before the men returned, bearing the gate between 
them. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


A DAY OF TERROR. 

The strange yellow light and sultry murk of the air, 
so oppressive in its earlier hours, steadily increased as 
the day drew toward night. As the men, hearing their 
awful load, emerged from the woods into the open coun- 
i try, and with the instinct of coast people turned their 
eyes toward the ocean to gather its augury for the next 
few hours, they saw with a certain terror that it was 
closed from their view, not by fog or cloud, but by a sul- 
try glare of amber light like nothing they had ever seen 
before, while darkness to be felt rather than seen 
gathered around them more deeply at every step. 

“ Why, what ’s the matter ? ” cried Henchman, turn- 
ing hack, as the men stumbled and almost fell. “ Can’t 
you walk straight ? ” . 

“ What ’s the matter with the sun, Mr. Henchman ? ” 
retorted one of the men. “ He looks as if that old witch 
had cursed him, too.” 

“ Shut up your head, you fool ! ” growled the agent 
in angry panic. “Are you such a coward as to he 
frightened by an old woman’s scolding tongue ? ” 

“ I ’m frightened of God Almighty and Judgment 
Day, and the man ’s a fool who is n’t,” replied the man 
staunchly. “ And in forty year, I never saw a sight like 
yon.” And resting his load upon his knee, he pointed 
to the strange yellow veil across the sea, and the sun 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


423 


just visible through the murky western clouds, hanging 
like a ball of tarnished copper above an earth he refused 
to illuminate. 

“ And hark you to the noise out yonder,” said the 
other man nodding toward the sea. “ Hear them v’ices 
kind o’ softly singing to theirselves ? That ’s mermaids, 
and they means mischief.” 

“ Fool ! It’s the surf on the back o’ the beach, and 
Manomet,” snarled Henchman. “ Come on, while there ’s 
light to see the road before you.” 

“ Don’t be quite so handy with your 1 fools,’ Hench- 
man I Tell us, if you know so much, what ’s going to 
hender our seeing the road afore us at three o’clock of 
an afternoon in October ? ” 

And the two men looked at each other, yet quickly 
looked away, for the lurid light made each man’s face 
terrible to his neighbor. 

Henchman opened his mouth to reply, but the wind, 
coming up out of the southwest in those heavy and 
weary sighs that suggest an overborne earth yearning 
for her rest, blew aside the handkerchief covering the 
dead man’s face, and showed it so grewsome in that 
grewsome light that, gasping instead of speaking, the 
agent turned and hastened down the steep hill toward 
the town, the bearers and their load following as fast as 
they could, pausing not until they reached the dead 
man’s home, and laid down their load upon the table, 
where he had eaten a hasty meal before setting forth 
upon an errand so fatal in its sequel. 

A slender figure cowered timidly in the corner as they 
entered, and would have flitted past unseen, but as the 
light of a candle already lighted on the mantelshelf fell 
upon that fearful face, a cry, terrible because it was so 


424 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


suppressed, burst from the girl’s white lips, and she fell 
heavily into the arms of Abiah, who was just rushing in 
at the door. 

“ Oh, Hannah ! Hannah ! What is it ? What has 
happened ? Oh ! ” — \ 

And the wife, still mechanically grasping the uncon- 
scious form of the girl, glared wildly past her fallen 
head at the sight upon the table, which Henchman was 
covering from her sight. 

Neighbors and friends came thronging in, and the 
kindly sympathy that made Old Colony folk of that day 
like one family was tendered fully and freely ; but still 
all minds were more or less oppressed with a panic and 
a foreboding that this awful calamity seemed rather to 
intensify than cover. Darkness had now fully fallen, — 
a darkness so intense that it seemed ponderous and pal- 
pable rather than the mere absence of light, — a dark- 
ness through which struggled no light of moon or stars, 
but into whose intensity was woven strange gleams of 
phosphorescence from the sea, whose waters broke in 
lines of glowing fire upon the beach, while out of its 
gleaming distances came ever and anon that strange 
murmur, those moans and sighs and vague melodies, that 
the old sailor had recognized as the songs of sirens. As 
the actual night drew in, the darkness deepened in 
more than the usual ratio of night to day, so that the 
obscurity which, in the hours of daylight, had been fear- 
ful because it was like night, became, so soon as it was 
night, yet more fearful because it was like nothing ever 
experienced before by those who endured it. 

The Day of Judgment has come ! was the cry of those 
who believed, and non-believers no longer scoffed at such 
possibilities, but gazed upon each other with bewildered 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


425 


and anguished doubt. Parson Robbins, whose wide 
reading and correspondence told him that such phe- 
nomena had occurred before, and were attributed to 
natural causes, whether those might be astral, or vol- 
canic, or atmospheric, or merely the effect of vast forest 
fires, went busily from house to house, imparting this 
information to his people, and summoning them to cou- 
rageous patience. Finally, however, perceiving that he 
produced about as much effect as the traveler who ex- 
plains the philosophy of an eclipse to a tribe of Central 
Africans, he desisted, and when one man interrupted 
him with, “ No use kicking against the pricks, Parson, 
nor in denyin’ the power of an angry God to destroy a 
wicked world,” he suddenly changed his base, and ex- 
claimed, “You are right, Brother Foster, and since the 
Day of Doom is at hand, it behooves us sinners to 
hasten our repentance, and bring forth works meet for 
acceptance. Have you ever paid Widow Doten for that 
cow ? ” 

“ It died on my hands, Parson ! ” expostulated the 
deacon in a whine of mingled wrath and terror. 

“ You had owned it a week, and if you are about to 
be called into judgment ” — 

“ I ’ll pay her, Parson, I ’ll pay her ! Here, I ’ll get 
out the money now. There, there ’s twenty good silver 
dollars, and if you ’ll come along with me I ’ll give it 
to her this minute. It won’t make any difference to 
either of us by this time to-morrow.” 

“ Yes, it will make a great difference to your soul, 
brother.” 

“Oh, yes, yes. Well, come along, and yet — don’t 
it look a little mite clearer than it did ? ” 

“ It is a little lighter for you,” replied the parson, 


426 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


significantly ; and the Widow Doten received her money, 
but left it lying all night upon the floor, where she had 
dropped it as idle dross. In the morning, however, she 
picked it up, for at sunrise the atmosphere lightened a 
little, a natural redness illuminated the east. The fowls, 
cattle, domestic creatures, birds, and men, each class led 
by the successive slowness of its intuitions to the same 
certainty, agreed that the peril was over, and resumed 
their usual occupations. The widow bestowed her dol- 
lars in the old teapot on the top shelf of the china- 
closet, and the deacon meditated how he should regain 
possession of them either as a loan, an investment, or 
by the sale of some unseasoned swamp-wood, which 
might, by a little “deaconing,” be made to pass for 
sound oak. 

Reuben Butler, up toward Carver, too busy, too tired, 
and too easy in his conscience to have been much fright- 
ened at the dark evening and night, was glad to find a 
promise of usual weather in the morning, for he had 
promised Mr. Cotton, out on the Kingston road, a load 
of hay, and was anxious to carry it, especially as he had 
loaded it the day before, and wanted the cart for his 
own stuvver-corn. 

So, in the gleam of that promised sunrise, the good 
fellow, having breakfasted and wiped his mouth upon 
his shirt-sleeve, drove out of the yard as quickly as 
Bright and White Star would consent to travel, but 
paused at the cry of a little fellow who came running 
down the road after him. 

“ Hullo, Daddy’s man ! What do you want ? ” de- 
manded he, with a delighted guffaw, for this was the 
only child, and a very bright one. 

“Me want yide — yide on hay,” replied Daddy’s 


A DAY OF TERROR. 427 

man, lifting chubby arms and smiling face to the father, 
who never had found out how to say no. 

“Want to yide on hay?” replied he now. “All 
right, then. Up you go ! ” 

And with a strong toss he threw the child to the top 
of the load, where he sprawled, shouting in glee, and 
kicking his chubby heels in the air. 

“ Does ma’am know Daddy’s man came with daddy?” 
asked Butler, starting on the oxen. 

“ Ma’am dorn uppee ’tairs,” replied the boy, more 
gleefully than ever. 

“ Oh ! Well, may be she ’ll get sca’at. I guess you ’ll 
have to run back, Daddy’s man, ’cause poor ma’am will 
be sca’at.” 

But Daddy’s man knew his power, and calmly reply- 
ing, “ Me no go back,” burrowed deeper into the hay, 
while his father looked anxiously about him. The lurid 
yellow darkness of the day before was returning, in 
strange clouds driven up from the southwest before a 
fitful wind ; the faint promise of the east was blotted 
out, and the sea completely hidden, except as the voices 
of the mermaids told where it lay ; a heavy electric and 
sulphurous element crept into the air, and made it diffi- 
cult to breathe. 

Butler stopped his oxen, and getting out an old sail 
slung under the hay-rigging, shook it out, and throwing 
it up over the hay, spoke more positively than he ever 
had done before to the petted child. 

“ Daddy’s man, you ’ve got to get down and run 
home, anyway. It ’s getting awful dark, and there 
must be a tempest coming. I ’ll cover up the hay 
and drive along, if I don’t get no farther than the vil- 
lage before it bursts, but you jump down, — here, slip 


428 DR . LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


right down into daddy’s arms, and run home to ma’am 
as fast as ever you can. It ’s going to thunder and 
lighten, and rain awful hard in a few minutes.” 

Daddy’s man, not a littled subdued and puzzled by 
the strange look of the familiar objects around him, 
and by his father’s unwonted decision, obeyed without 
demur, and slipping off the load with the charming 
trustfulness of childhood, was received in the paternal 
arms, vigorously kissed and set upon his feet, with the 
injunction to run home just as fast as he could, to the 
pleasant old red farmhouse, still in sight at the top of 
the hill. Seeing him set off, his little bare feet as they 
fell, spatting up the dust in clouds, the farmer turned his 
attention to covering his hay, the oxen trudging along 
the while, guided by an occasional gee ! and haw ! from 
their master, until, his task finished, he sat for a mo- 
ment upon the load, and looked behind him ; house and 
child had both disappeared in the gathering gloom, and 
the aspect of all things had grown more abnormal and 
terrifying. From some springs in a low-lying meadow, 
beside the road, masses of vapor were rising, so solid 
and grotesque of shape, that, had Reuben Butler ever 
heard of them, would surely have reminded him of the 
genii imprisoned by Solomon in copper spheres ; but as 
he never had so much as heard of the Thousand and 
One Tales of the Arabian Nights, he was reminded of 
nothing, and only gazed in stolid astonishment, while 
the clouds rose, the first one to a great height, where it 
rapidly expanded into an umbrella-shape, and became 
a vivid red color ; a second cloud following at a short 
interval, spread itself below the other, and was colored 
blue changing with green, another interval and then a 
third, densely white and substantial, arose and spread 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


429 


itself like a foundation beneath the others, all three 
showing for a few moments in a stupendous pile of 
brilliant and airy architecture, as if the released and 
triumphant genii had built themselves a palace wherein 
to dwell. 

But this magnificent sight endured only for a mo 
ment, and then the darkness swept in with appalling 
suddenness, and with it a lashing shower of rain, of such 
strange smell and feel that even the stolid young far- 
mer became vaguely alarmed, and hurrying on to the 
cross-roads, turned his unwieldy team and set off to- 
ward home, wiping that slimy, ill-savored moisture from 
his face and goading on his oxen, who, lowing and dis- 
tressed, seemed eager to break from the yoke and es- 
cape. 

But at the gate of his farmyard Butler met his wife, 
who eagerly demanded : — 

“ Have you got the child, Reuben ? Good land ! 
What ’s the matter with your face ? It ’s as black as a 
nigger’s ! ” 

“ The child ! Has n’t he got home ? ” cried the 
father, mechanically wiping his face, blackened by that 
sooty and sulphurous rain. 

And even while they spoke, the darkness of that fear- 
ful Dark Day shut down so suddenly and so entirely 
that although the woman, stumbling back to the house, 
lighted candles and set them in every window, to guide 
the child if he should be seeking his home, her hus- 
band, who had paused to unyoke and turn his cattle 
loose, and shut the barn-door against the level sheets of 
rain, could not distinguish their light, and only reached 
the house after long search by groping along the fence 
like a blind man. 


430 DR. LeBARON and bis daughters. 


And Daddy’s man, whom we left spatting through 
the soft dust with little bare feet, half frightened, half 
delighted with the novel aspect of affairs ? Just out of 
his father’s sight he espied some ripe blackberries lin- 
gering in a sheltered nook, and turning aside to secure 
them, the little fellow spent a precious fifteen minutes 
at his feast, and before it was over was startled by the 
rain and the utter darkness. Scrambling back into the 
road he began to run, but alas ! in the wrong direction, 
and striking into a loop-road, passed his father at a 
distance of not more than twenty rods, struck again 
into the main road just below that open space where 
Butler had turned his team, and hurried on toward the 
town, while his father was hastening home. 

Just in the entrance of Plymouth village, the poor 
little one met a man, who, having children of his own, 
stopped him and asked his name. 

“ Daddy’s man,” was the reply. 

“ But where ’s daddy ? ” 

“ Daddy let me yide on hay.” 

“ Yes, but do you know where he is ? Can you get 
to him by yourself ? ” 

“ Daddy’s man go to daddy.” 

And breaking away from the dubious grasp of the 
other’s hand, the child ran on, straight through Plym- 
outh town, past all those safe chimney - nooks where 
little children sheltered from the terror of the Dark 
Day in their mother’s arms ; past the doors where the 
fathers of Plymouth anxiously considered the signs of 
the times, and meditated with the naive self-importance 
of Calvinism as to which of their personal or municipal 
sins had brought down this chastisement upon the earth. 

Yes, and past that smitten home where S’uth’ard 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


431 


Howland lay dead, with Abiah, his wife, weeping over 
him, and yet casting terrified glances at the windows 
black at noon with the darkness of midnight, and half 
listening to the whimpering of the children hiding at her 
feet and in her lap ; the home where Hannah Howland, 
who only yesterday morning had heard the news of 
her dear brother Consider’s shipwreck and death, and 
before night had met the bearers bringing in the body 
of her other brother, now lay white and still upon her 
bed in the little gable-bedroom, knowing nothing, caring 
nothing for the terrors of the Dark Day, because her 
own young days were forever darkened, and become 
“as a post that hasteth by,” and as a bird whose light 
wings cleave the air and are gone. 

Through the town and out upon the Kingston road, 
the poor child ran, and on and on, mile after mile 
through the darkness and the rain and the wild terror 
that convulsed the baby heart, and still through the pow- 
ers of the tempest or the more terrible silences that fell 
between, the weak plaintive voice rose, broken with sobs 
and faint with terror and exhaustion : — 

“ Daddy’s man wants dadfly ! ” and “ Daddy take 
Daddy’s man home to mammy ! ” 

On and on, more miles than one would dare to invent, 
for the story is a true one, that poor baby strayed, and 
by some strange chance came within hearing of no mor- 
tal ears, until toward night a voice from out the dark' 
ness called to him : — 

u Come here ! Come to me ! Here ! ” 

And the poor baby, too weary and too frightened to 
be shy, fell into that strange embrace, and in a moment 
to sleep, whispering as his eyelids closed : — 

“ Daddy’s man wants mammy ! ” 


432 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


With that second night the terror of darkness passed, 
and the next day a red and blear-eyed sun gazed 
drowsily upon the world from among copper-colored 
clouds ; the birds and fowls awoke from their four-and- 
twenty hours of roosting ; the cows, who had come I0W7 
ing home to be milked before noon on the previous day, 
calmly betook themselves again to their meadows ; men 
began to explain the late phenomena, to forget their 
late terrors, to doubt and deny nearly all that had 
passed, and to resume their old follies and wickedness. 
In short, human nature, subdued for a while before the 
mighty power of God’s Nature, reasserted itself, and 
went on in its accustomed fashion. 

With the earliest dawn, a haggard and well-nigh 
crazed couple, man and woman, came riding into Plym- 
outh upon one horse, and straight to Parson Robbins’ 
house. They were Reuben and Sally Butler, seeking 
for their child, and they knew the parson to be at once 
the wisest, the kindest, and the most influential man in 
the town ; and they were justified, for, pausing only long 
enough to jot down his thermal observations of the 
Dark Day, and to lock tip the sheets of paper he had 
laid out in the rain, and was now drying before the fire 
previous to examining them under the microscope, the 
parson, leaving his wife to persuade the heart-stricken 
pair to drink at least a good cup of coffee, if they could 
not eat, went out and raised a search-party, which, fol- 
lowing the slight clue given by the child’s departure 
when the too easy townsman had allowed him to run 
on after daddy’s hay cart, passed down the Kingston 
road, beat the woods, inquired at every house, and so 
worked on toward Plympton. 

Bo’s’n, the great mastiff who guarded the farmer’s 


A DAY OF TERROR. 


433 


homestead and was the child’s favorite playfellow, was 
one of the party, and knew as well as any member of it 
for whom he was seeking ; and he it was who, at the 
last, when, faint and weary, the men began to look at 
each other and speak of “ having to give it up,” he it 
was who, growling savagely at their speech, trotted off, 
put his nose to the ground, whimpered impatiently, flew 
into the bushes, out again into the road, circled round 
always with his nose to the ground, cried out a note of 
interrogation, glanced at his master as much as to 
say, “Follow me, and let these fools do as they like! ” 
and finally, picking up the scent again, led the way up a 
grassy lane and bounded over a low wall, at sight of 
which the men turned superstitious and said : — 

“ ’ T is Plympton churchyard ! He means to say the 
child is dead ! ” And as if to point their terrors, a ter- 
rific screech arose upon the air, a yell of pain and rage 
from the dog, the noise of a scuffling combat, and the 
faint wailing of a baby voice. 

“ The child ! ” screamed Sally, and slid from behind 
her husband to the ground and was over the wall in a 
minute. The men followed, afraid, but yet ashamed to 
be outdone by a woman, and presently came upon Bo’s’n 
in mortal combat with a fierce black creature which 
some of the party took for the devil and some for a 
catamount. The men, absorbed in a fight, saw noth- 
ing more, but the woman, to whom creation was but a 
detail in the search for her boy, flew past the struggling 
creatures and seized him where he lay, weak and white 
but alive, in the arms of a poor skeleton covered with 
skin and wrapped in an old red cloak. 

“ Daddy’s man want mammy ! ” whispered the little 
fellow, and curling his arm around his mother’s neck. 


434 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


laid his head upon her shoulder and watched with the 
apathy of a sick child the rush of the men toward him 
and the last furious struggle of the beasts, resulting in 
the cat tearing herself away from the jaws of the dog 
and fleeing to the woods, where she may yet be alive 
for any testimony to the contrary. 

“ It ’s mother Crewe, and this is BathsAeby’s grave,” 
said a Plympton man at last when all had gathered 
about the poor effigy so mute and so harmless in their 
midst. 

“Then that was Milker, her black cat, that she 
cursed folks with,” faltered another, staring into the 
woods. 

“ And she stole my boy ! ” exclaimed the father in 
slow fierce wrath, but the quicker-witted woman inter- 
posed. 

“ No she did n’t, she saved him. See these leaves in 
his hand, and his little tier is stained with berries. She 
found him and was good to him. Say, baby, did the 
old woman give you the berries and the sas’fras ? ” 

“ Ess, and divved me water.” 

“ And she was good to you, wa’n't she, darling ? ” 

“ Ess. S’e singed, and Daddy’s man wen’ by-by.” 

“ She fed him, and sung him to sleep in her arms. 
Men, bury her in her daughter’s grave for the sake of 
your own mothers and of this dear child whose life she 
saved.” 

So spoke the woman, and was obeyed, so that in her 
death mother Crewe was more honored than in her life. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 


PHAIRO ! PHAIRO ! PHAIRO ! 

The Dark Day was a memory of the past, the dark 
day of the Revolution was over, and many changes, his- 
torical, social, and personal, had passed over Plymouth, 
when one fine morning, Pompey, once the slave of Gen- 
eral Goodwin, whose new uniform he had so discreetly 
admired, but now a freeman living near Eel River and 
supporting himself by capturing its denizens and selling 
them in town, trudged past his late master’s house with 
his bag upon his back, and was hailed by the General’s 
brother William, recently married to Lydia, daughter 
of Captain Simeon Samson, and a little over-glorious in 
his new dignities, or so the old man who had known him 
as a baby fancied. 

“ Hullo, Pomp ! What have you in your bag, you old 
villain ? Anything I can make use of at my house ? ” 

“ Nuf’n, mas’r Billy, nuf’n but what you ’ll have 
plenty of to you house ’fore long, nuf’n but rheumatiz 
an’ poberty.” 

William was still laughing at the retort when his 
brother appeared at the door, and politely saluting his 
former servant, inquired : — 

“ Any eels to-day, Pompey ? ” 

“ Yes, mas’ Gen’l, got some berry fine ones. Tek’ 
’em roun’ to de kitch’n door, mas’r ? ” 

“Yes, a dozen of them. Here’s a shilling, Pom- 

P e y” 


436 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ ’Scuse me , mas’r, but dat on’y pays fer half dozen. 
Dey ’s two shillin’ a dozen dis mawnin.’ , 

“ Two shillings, you rascal ! Why you never pre- 
tended to charge more than one shilling a dozen be- 
fore ! ” exclaimed the general, indignantly. 

“ I knows it, mas’r, I knows it berry well, but dey 
won’ let me no more.” 

“ They won’t let you ! Who won’t let you, Pomp ? ” 
demanded Mr. Goodwin, who had never heard of a 
“ trust.” 

“Well, I’ll tell yo,’ mas’r, on’y I don’ wan’ mas’ 
Billy sniggering away, like I was n’ a free nigger.” 

“ Shut up, Bill. Well how was it, Pomp ? ” 

“ W’y, mas’r, it was jes’ dis way. ’Bout sun-up dis 
mawnin I went down to de pots, an’ sure ’nough dere 
was ’bout four dozen lubly fat eel, an’ I says, ‘Now, 
nigger, dere ’s t’ree shillin’ an’ half safe in you’ pouch, an’ 
you ’s a-gwine pay for dem new closes right straight off, 
on’y dey is six shillin’, an’ how de debbil is you gwine 
fer ter stretch t’ree shillin’ into six shillin’ ? Well, I 
h’ist de bag onter my shoulder, an’ I sot out down de 
road, alluz a-cunjurin’ an’ a-cunjurin’ how t’ree shillin’ 
was gwine ter stretch ober six shillin’ worth o’ breeches, 
w’en des as I come by dat woodsey spot down ’crost 
de brook, de pooties’ leetly bird eber you see, he come 
flyin’ along, same as if he ’d come right out o’ lieben, 
an’ he lit on a teenty-tonty lil’ twig dat sent him teet- 
erin’ up an’ down, up an’ down, an’ he sung it right 
out, dis-a-way, ‘ E-e-ly, e-e-ly, Pompey, e-e-ly ! Sell oo 
eely one-a-shillin’ two-a-shillin’ ! ’ ” 

And in the rich guttural notes of the negro voice the 
old fellow warbled out the song-sparrow's cadence in 
the words that certainly seemed to fit it as admirably 


PHAIRO! PHAIRO! PHAIRO! 437 

as if they had been composed for it, as indeed they 
had. 

The Goodwins laughed, and the general, taking an- 
other coin from his pocket, tossed it to the old roman- 
cist saying : — 

“ Here, Pomp, here you are ! One shilling for a dozen 
eels, and one shilling for the best lie I ’ve heard to-day.” 

“ W’y, I t’out you and mas’ Billy was a-talkin’ w’en I 
come along,” retorted Pompey, catching the coin in one 
black paw ; and then as if afraid he had gone too far, 
continued in a very plaintive voice : “ ’Pears like you 
wus alluz a-doin’ sumfin for dis pore chile, mas’ Gineral. 
On’y last monf we had dat elegan’ fun’al fur poor ole 
ma’am Phyllis.” 

“ She was your own mother, you heathen,” interposed 
William, indignantly. 

“I know she wuz, mas’ Billy, leas’ways ole mas’r 
said she wuz, an’ I ’s boun’ to b’lieve him ; but den you 
see, mas’r, I ain’t ben free long ’nough ter take up all 
de w’ite folks’ notions, an’ w’en we was slaves it wa’n’t 
no great ’count ’bout mudders and faders, we wus ole 
niggers an’ lil’ niggers, an’ I ain’t got in de way o’ 
much else, not yit.” 

“ Well, you ’re free now, Pompey, and if you ’re not 
white it ’s because the Lord made you black, and we 
can’t help it.” 

“ No, mas’ Gin’al, you can’ help it, an’ I can’ help it,” 
replied Pompey, slowly ; but suddenly brightening, he 
hoisted his bag of eels upon his shoulders, and touching 
his brimless hat, made toward the kitchen door, saying : 
“ But dat wus inos’ an elegan’ fun’al, mas’ Gin’al, dat 
yo’ make for my ole mudder Phyllis. Ra’al coffin, wid 
shiny nails, an’ she a-layin’ out in de big front parlor, in 


438 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


a layloc caliker, as smart as mustard. Cur’us dat w’en 
she was alive she would n’ a ben ask’ to set down in dat 
room, an’ w’en she was dead she c’d lay dere, stretch 
out full len’th, an’ all de w’ite folks takin’ off dey hats 
to her ! Kin’ o’ cur’us, but ’t was a elegan’ fun’al, t’ank 
you, mas’r.” 

He disappeared around the corner as he spoke, and 
the brothers looked at each other rather dubiously. 

“ Pompey ’s no man’s fool,” remarked the elder, at 
length, and they parted with a laugh. 

As it chanced, that very afternoon, Priscilla Ham- 
matt, tying her summer hood over her comely head, 
and taking a covered basket in one hand and a bunch 
of white lilies in the other, set forth for a visit to her 
old friend Quasho, now living in a little cabin of his 
own, near New Guinea, a settlement of manumitted 
blacks a little west of the town. Willy, her oldest son 
and favorite companion, capered along at her side. 

“ What ’s in the basket, mamma ? ” asked he, peeping 
and sniffing. 

“ Some goodies for poor uncle Quash, who is sick.” 

“ I smell ginger-cake.” 

“ Yes, extra sweet and gingery. Too good for little 
boys.” 

And the mother turned a fond smile upon the little 
fellow, who grinned appreciatively as he replied, — 

“Yes, bread and milk, and early to bed, and cold 
baths, that ’s what makes boys grow strong and hardy.” 

“ I ’m glad you ’ve learned your lesson so well, sir, 
but you must n’t mimic mamma.” 

“ I did n’t — no, I mean I won’t again. And are the 
posies for uncle Quash, mamma ? ” 

“ No, dear, the posies are for dear aunt Nan.” 


PHAIRO ! PHAIRO ! PHAIRO! 


439 


And Willy, suddenly quiet, turned with his mother up 
through the alley between the old LeBaron house and 
that of James Hovey, brother of Parson Hovey and 
father of Abiah Howland. Mr. Hovey himself was now 
dead, and the estate was bought by Joshua Thomas, but 
the alley remained, as it does to this day, and then, as 
now, afforded a short and direct path to Burying Hill. 

“ Does aunt Nan know that you bring flowers to her, 
mamma ? ” asked the boy, as the two breasted the hill 
and stood for a moment to breathe, just where now lie 
the graves of William Goodwin and Lydia, his wife, 
and her heroic father, Captain Simeon Samson. 

“No, darling, aunt Nan is not there; she is in 
heaven — and yet — love strong and faithful as ours 
cannot die ; perhaps it makes a bridge that spirit feet 
can tread ; perhaps you know it, darling.” 

Willy knew that his mother did not speak to him, and 
made no reply, exeept a wistful upward look, and the 
two passed on through the short brown grass, past the 
graves where Gideon White and Joanna Howland, his 
wife, lay at peace. He, happy in that he had at last 
entered into a kingdom which no revolution can ever 
convert into a republic, and she content that her bones, 
lie in Burying Hill, and not like those of her sister- 
Winslow, in an alien soil. 

Close behind the mendacious monument to John How- 
land the Pilgrim, his great-grandson Consider had been 
laid to rest, and near his stone and that of his wife their 
daughter’s grave had been made, as if even in death 
they would shelter and love her. A new stone, not, 
mossed as now, but fresh from the graver’s hand, had 
recently been set, and while Priscilla laid her lilies 
above the maiden’s breast, Willy, who had not seen it, 


440 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


threw himself upon his knees and spelt out the inscrip- 
tion : — 

“ Sic transit gloria mundi. 

To the Memory of 
Miss Hannah Howland, 

Who Died of a Languishment, 

Jan. 25 , 1780 . 

For us they languish, and for us they die, 

And shall they languish, shall they die in vain ! ” 

“ What does the poetry mean, mamma ? And those 
words over the top — Sic transit , and the rest of it ? ” 

“ That is Latin, my darling, and means that she was 
too beautiful and too sweet for this poor earth, so passed 
to heaven. That is what Parson Robbins told me. He 
made it, and so he did the poetry ” 

“ And what does that mean ? ” persisted the boy. 

“I can hardly make you understand, Willy. Only 
you know that Christ died for you, don’t you ? ” 

“ In the Catechism ? ” 

“ That tells about it, but as you grow up and have 
your own sorrows, my poor lamb, you will learn a great 
deal more about it than the Catechism can teach. But, 
because He died, and so, by his own innocent suffering, 
saved us all from hell, so good people — his elect, as 
they are called — can, by their own sufferings and 
prayers, join themselves to his Merits, and gain pardon 
in some degree for those they love. Aunt Nan was 
good — nobody could have been better, I believe, and 
she suffered much, and some of her kin died as if by a 
judgment, and that made her so sorry that she mourned 
herself to death, and the parson said she died like a 
lamb of sacrifice, so he wrote that. You don’t under- 
stand much about it, do you, Willy ? ” 


PUAIRO! PHAIROl PHAIRO! 441 

“Not much, mamma, but I loved aunt Nan dearly, 
and I love you, but ” — 

“ But what, Willy ? ” 

“ I don’t think I love God, if He wants people to kill 
themselves with crying about other people’s being 
naughty. Does n’t He love anybody ? ” 

“ Oh, child, child, hush this minute ! Why, Willy, 
it ’s awful to talk that way, and the ground might open 
and swallow you up alive. I ’m really frightened.” 

Willy regarded the ground under his feet, found that 
it still seemed pretty solid, looked up at the blue sky, 
full of summer sunshine, and at last fixed his serious 
eyes upon his mother’s face, really pale with horror. 

“ Don’t look so scared, mother. I don’t believe God 
heard that time, and I won’t talk about Him any more.” 

Truly, it must have been very difficult for staunch 
Calvinistic mothers to teach their boys about spiritual 
things without converting them either into rebels or 
cowards. 

Silent and puzzled, Priscilla walked on past the graves 
of her grandfather the nameless nobleman, and Mary, 
his tardily faithful wife ; past the grave of Elder Cush- 
man, and the still plainly-defined site of the fort Myles 
Standish had commanded and loved so well ; down the 
hill and Spring Lane, and up the Carver road until, 
coming to the house of William Fallowell, she turned 
south into the old Indian trail, and so came at last to a 
cluster of cabins occupied mostly by the manumitted 
slaves of Plymouth, nearly all of whom chose liberty 
with poverty and discomfort, to the mildest slavery that 
ever existed. Raising the latch of one of these doors, 
Mrs. Hammatt walked in at once, but stood for a mo- 
ment dazed by the sudden transition from brilliant sun- 
light to smoky darkness. 


442 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“ Dat you, Mis’ Pris ? And lil’ mas’r Billy ! You ’s 
welcome, chil’n, welcome as de flowers in May, dat you 
looks like, Mis’ Prissy, my dear.” 

“ Why, uncle Quash ! Are you in bed ? Are you 
sick ? Here, let me open the door and get some light. 
What ’s the matter, uncle ? ” 

“ Oh, Mis’ Pris, it ’s de grasshoppers — de grass- 
hoppers dat ’s a burden. De pore ole man ’s a-goin’, 
a-goin’ fas’. Mas’r be right glad to see his ole nigger, 
dough I don’ s’pose he want his queue tied ; but dere ’ll 
be somefin, somefin fer ole Quash ter do fer mas’r. 
’Pears like ’t would n’t be hebben if dere was n’t.” 

“ Mamma ’s made you some gingerbread, extra sweet 
and gingery, uncle Quash,” said Willy gently, as he 
crept close up to the pillow of the old man, whom Pris- 
cilla was shocked to see looking so changed. 

“ Dat jes’ like yo’ mammy, mas'r Billy, an’ shore 
’nough you ’s gwine ter tek after her. Eber sence she 
Wuz a lilly white pooty missy wi’ yaller curls all down 
her back, she ben good to ole Quash and all de rest ob 
de folks like him : de sick, an’ de ole, an’ de helpless, an’ 
dem dat hed no frien’s, dem ’s de folks my Mis’ Pris 
alluz was runnin’ arter, w’ile de spruce young fellers 
was a-runnin’ arter her.” 

“ Here, uncle Quash, open your mouth and take this 
jelly. It ’s calves’ foot and has some good old port in 
it. There, another spoonful ! Now don’t you feel a 
little stronger ? ” 

“ Shore ’nough I does, Mis’ Pris ! Dere ’s a kin’ o’ 
savin’ grace in port wine jelly, but I nebber got much 
ob it ’cept w’en my young mist’esses got married. 
How ’s Miss Betsey, Mis’ Prissy, my dear ? ” 

“Very well, Quasho. Mr. Robbins was here the 
other day from Norfolk, and they have another baby.” 


PffAIRO I PHAIRO! PHAIRO ! 


443 


“ Since lir mas’r Tommy Robbins ? ” 

“ Yes. This one is called Francis LeBaron, after my 
dear brother, you know.” 

“ Yes, — won’er ef I ’ll meet up wid mas’r Frank in 
de oder worl’, an’ ef he ’ll ask fer de key o’ de apple- 
house ? ” 

“ You ’re not going to the other world just yet, uncle 
Quash, don’t you think it ! Why, what should I do, 
with all my dear old home broken up and gone ! ” 

And as the young woman laid her white and dimpled 
hand upon the old man’s forehead and bent lovingly 
over him he opened his eyes, those piteous umber-colored 
eyes that make a sick negro look so very sick, and whis- 
pered : — 

“ Sen’ mas’r Billy out de door, Mis’ Pris.” 

“ Run away, darling, and wait for mamma outside. 
Go and see Chloe’s children if you like, and give them 
these ground-nuts.” 

The child, glad, perhaps, to get out of the dark and 
pain-infected atmosphere, went out, closing the door 
after him, and Priscilla, moistening her poor old ser- 
vant’s lips with some lemonade she had been making, 
asked soothingly : — 

“ What is it, Quash ? What have you to tell me ? ” 

“ Mis’ Prissy, my dear, I ’s got my warning. I ’s got 
it shore.” 

“ A warning, Quash ? What sort of a warning ? ” 

“ Las’ night it was so hot an’ dost dat I could n’ 
sleep, nor yet I could n’ wake. Mas’r was roun’, and 
Phyllis, an’ ole mist’s your mammy, Mis’ Pris, an’ 
mas’r Frank, — oh, de ole shanty was chock full o’ white 
folks an’ sarvents” — 

“ You were feverish, uncle Quash, and dreamed, — 


444 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


that was all ! ” interrupted Priscilla, soothingly. Quasho 
closed his eyes wearily, waited till she had done, and 
continued in exactly the same tone. 

“ An’ dat Cal’line woman dat mas’r make me merry 
’cause she ’d got a baby, she was here, — like her impe- 
rent, low-live manners cornin’ in ’long o’ de w’ite folks — 
an’ all to wonst dere by de window or des outside some 
one set up a-hollerin’, ‘ Phair-o ! Phair-o ! Phair-o ! ’ an’ 
mas’r he turn ’roun’ an’ beckoned me wid he forefinger 
des the way he use ter, an’ went out, and den it hollered 
ag’in ‘ Phairo ! Phairo ! ’ an’ all de res’ ob ’em dey 
nod an’ beckon an’ pass out, an’ all de time dat voice 
nebber stop, nebber stop hollerin’ 1 Phairo ! ’ An’ it ’s a 
warnin’, an’ ’fore many days ole Quash ’ll be buried in 
de Red Sea o’ de’f, same as dat ole time Phairo was 
w’en de wheels o’ dem carts got mired, and de drivers 
could n’ lick dere hosses hard ’nough to mek ’em pull 
froo’” 

“ But Quash ! Dear old uncle Quash ! You know as 
well as I do that it is the crickets that make that noise ! 
I heard them too, last night, and I often hear them.” 

“ An’ doos yo’ fader come a-beckonin’ all de time ? ” 
asked Quasho, sarcastically. 

“ No, but ” — 

“ Den, Mis’ Prissy, my dear, you don’ know noffin’ 
about it, an’ you need n’ try ter teach yo’ ole unc’ Quash 
how ter suck eggs, ’cause he know how long time ’fore 
you was born. Don’ you git mad now, Mis’ Prissy, 
will yo’, honey ? ” 

“ No, indeed, uncle Quash. But you must let Mr. 
Isaac come up and see you, and give you some medicine, 
and I shall come again to-morrow or next day, and if 
you would be more comfortable you shall be moved to 


PHAIRO ! PHAIRO ! PHA1R0 ! 445 

my house, or to your own old room in Mr. Isaac’s house 
as it is now ” — 

“Nebber was berry fon’ o’ Mis’ Patty Howlan’,” 
muttered Quash, discontentedly. 

“ Mrs. Isaac, you ought to call her,” corrected Pris- 
cilla, gently ; but the invalid had grown tired and per- 
verse, only brightening a moment as his visitor bade i 
him good-by to say : — 

“ Nebber min’ ole nigger’s cranky ways, Mis’ Prissy, 
my dear, dey ’ll soon be all buried up ’long o’ him, an’ 
dere ’s one ’quest I ’s got to make berry pertikler, ’fore 
dat time come.” 

“ What is it, Quash ? ” 

“ I wants to be berried right ’crost mas’r’s two feet, 
dost up so ’s ef he felt kin’ o’ cold an’ stretched ’em out 
in bed, he ’d find ole nigger’s heart to warm ’em on. 
We slep’ dat way out in de woods one night, an’ I make 
my min’ den, dat ’s de way we ’d lay down fer good long 
comferbable sleep twell ole Gab’el’s horn come to call us 
up fer jedgmen’. 

“ W’y, Mis’ Prissy, my dear, I did n’ go fer ter mek 
you cry — s’cuse me honey — dry up dem pooty eyes, or 
I ’ll hab to knock my ole head ag’in de floor at yo’ lil’ 
feet fer pardon.” 

“ Oh, uncle Quash, uncle Quash, I shall be so lonesome 
— don’t go — dear, faithful uncle Quash, don’t go and 
leave me, don’t ! ” 

“ Oh, Mis’ Prissy, chile, dere ’s no 4 halt ’ nor 4 stan’ at 
ease ’ in dis march. We ’s got to step along one right 
after t’oder, an’ de dark woods swallers up one file an 
den de nex’, an’ den de nex’, an’ still we ’s got to march 
w’en de cap’n says march, an’ dere ’s no respec’ o’ per- 
sons neider : men an’ women an’ lil’ chil’en, de w’ite 


446 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


gen’lefolk an’ de brack sarvents, de good an’ de bad an’ 
de indipperen’, dey all keep step, an’ dey all get swal- 
lered up in de brack woods ; an’ w’at lies t’oder side we 
has n’ seen, nor de pos’riders don’ bring no news. Par- 
son Robbins t’ink he know all ’bout it, but ole Quash 
don’ purtend, no, nor don’ keer, — mas’r someweers 
dere, an’ Quash ’ll fin’ him out an’ wait on him. Neb- 
ber no more de’f to come between. Good-by, Mis’ 
Prissy, my dear, good-by but not fer long. Yo’ lilly 
feet marchin’ along, an’ de picaninnies’ an’ all. Bimeby 
we ’ll all git to-gedder ag’in, — an’ dey nebber ’ll sing 
Phairo ! Phairo ! Phairo ! under our winders dere.” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


THE WOMAN SOLDIER. 


“ Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowline, 

The darling of our crew ; 

No more he ’ll hear the tempest rollin’, 

For death has broached him to.” 

So sang or muttered Simeon Samson, pacing up and 
down the brow of Cole’s Hill, just over the bones of 
those Pilgrims who in the first months had been laid 
to rest in wheat-sown graves. 

“ Ah well, ah well — I wonder if Dawson is laid on 
the shelf — this fellow Nelson seems forging ahead of 
the rest — I’d like to meet him on the high seas on 
equal terms — well, well — if Deb wants a farm I sup- 
pose she ’ll have one, and I ’ll see if a man that ’s 
ploughed the seas for twenty years can plough the land 
as well, and if I can’t — why, if there ’s no fighting to 
be done there ’s the merchant service. 

1 Here, a sheer hulk ’ ” — 

The song broke off abruptly, for a horse cantering 
down Middle Street halted close at his side, and a 
blithe voice demanded : — 

“ Is n’t this Captain Samson ? ” 

“ At your service, madam.” 

“ Then I ’m your cousin Deborah Samson, or, if you 
will, I ’m Private Robert Shurtliffe, late of the Conti- 
nental Army, and now discharged with a certificate of 
good conduct.” 


448 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


“You are welcome, cousin. I have heard of you 
from my wife, and though you did n’t make out to sail 
in my ship, we are in the same boat now, for my occu- 
pation ’s gone as well as yours. Peace is a good thing 
for peaceable folks, but a poor thing for fighters like 
you and me.” 

“I’m thinking of being married, for my part,” said 
Deborah, bluntly. 

“Aye? Well, then, for God’s sake lay your fight- 
ing gear aside. Come, let me take you off your horse 
— h’m, I forgot your training, but the petticoats must 
hamper you a good deal in such manoeuvres, don’t they ? ” 

Deborah, who had flung herself off her horse in a 
very masculine fashion, laughed, yet glancing shrewdly 
at her cousin’s face, frowned a little. 

“ You don’t want women stealing your trade, do you, 
cousin ? Well, I had no man to fight for me, as your 
wife has, and when I heard those guns on Bunker Hill, 
I could n’t stay idle, and there are two or three fewer 
enemies of American Independence in the world than 
there would have been if I had n’t gone.” 

The captain turned his keen blue eyes upon the face 
of the speaker, but said nothing, and she, laughing 
loudly, continued : — 

“ You ’re glad I ’m not your wife, and so am I, 
cousin. Two of a trade seldom agree, especially two 
master- workmen like you and me, so I ’ll forgive you 
your thought.” 

“Well, well ! we won’t fight each other. Come into 
the house and see my wife, while I put up your horse 
and bring in the saddle-bags. You ’ll stay with us for 
a while, I hope.” 

“ Over one day. I was determined in my own mind 


THE WOMAN SOLDIER. 


449 


to have a good look at you and a good talk, before I 
married and settled down. It was knowing about you 
that led me to offer myself to our country.” 

That evening a circle of friends and neighbors col- 
lected round the fire in the great kitchen of the house 
on Middle Street, all intent to see and hear something 
of the woman soldier, whose fame had gone abroad 
throughout the army ; the fame of dauntless courage, 
great zeal, quick comprehension, and ready obedience 
to orders, and a discretion so great and so consistent 
that her sex had never been suspected, until, overcome 
by illness and exhaustion, she fell senseless, and the 
surgeon placed his hand upon her heart to determine 
whether she were alive. 

Many of our friends were in that circle, and as in 
most assemblies in old-time Plymouth, all were either 
kith or kin to the rest. Lydia, the daughter of the 
house, was there with William Goodwin, her husband ; 
and his mother, born Lydia LeBaron, and his brother, 
Francis LeBaron Goodwin, with his new-made wife, 
Jenny Robbins ; then there was Lydia’s sister Priscilla, 
with Abraham Hammatt, her husband, and Margot, 
their orphaned sister ; Henry Goodwin, late captain’s 
clerk on board the Independence, was near his captain, 
as he always was when he might be ; and Isaac LeBaron, 
with Martha Howland and one of S’uth’ard’s daughters, 
was there ; and Parson Robbins had strolled along with 
his daughter Jenny, and sat in the doorway, half protest- 
ing by his attitude and manner against the encourage- 
ment of female soldiery, but still, as a student of men 
and manners, he could not but listen while the heroine 
in her clear brisk voice, went on : — 

“ I was mustered into the service at Worcester, and 


450 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


soon joined the army at West Point, and was rated in 
Captain Webb’s company, Colonel Shepard’s regiment, 
and General Patterson’s brigade. Here I learned the 
manual, practiced the step, and got my uniform : a blue 
coat faced with white, white waistcoat and breeches ; 
half-boots and black stockings with leather garters under 
the knee ; a black stock made of velvet and very barbar 
rously stiffened with leather ; a cap with a many-colored 
cockade on one side, and a white plume tipped with 
red on the other, and a white scarf tied around the 
crown. 

“ Then I had a French fusee and bayonet, a knapsack, 
cartridge-box, and thirty cartridges, and was ready for 
the fray. Six weeks later it came, and we had a skir- 
mish at White Plains, where my left-hand comrade 
was shot dead, and I found the smell of battle first 
sickening, and then so intoxicating that I fought like a 
fury. After this we joined the French, forces from 
Newport, under Count Rochambeau, and finally marched 
south, passing through Philadelphia, where the people 
climbed on each other’s shoulders to cheer us as we 
passed, and feasted us on the best the city could afford. 
It was there that a young lady fell in love with Robert 
Shurtliffe, and sorely embarrassed him with her posies 
and her poetry and love-billets ; but this pleasant pas- 
time soon gave way to fierce realities, when we came to 
the siege of Yorktown, and for seven days a continuous 
battle raged all along the line, and our poor fellows, 
cold, hungry, half clothed, and half equipped, fought 
against Cornwallis and eight thousand British regulars. 
That ’s the time George Washington, God bless him,” 
— and as she spoke Deborah rose straight and rigid to 
her feet, and saluted, as if in presence of the Com- 


THE WOMAN SOLDIER. 451 

mander in Chief, — “ showed what was in him. He and 
Rochambeau and de Grasse saved the country ” — 

“ Under God ! ” interpolated Doctor Robbins sternly. 

“ Yes, Parson, under God of course, but if they had n’t 
been the men they were, God’s battle would have been 
lost.” 

“ And what did you do, Deborah ? ” asked Captain 
Samson hurriedly, for the parson’s brow was ominous. 

“ Oh, I did as I was bid. The 7th of October, I was 
one of the party ordered to open a trench within a 
mile of the enemy’s batteries. It was cold, but the work 
warmed us, I assure you ; my hands were soon blis- 
tered, and my back well-nigh broke, but I never shirked 
nor faltered, and after sunset, when we were relieved, 
I could scarce stand on my feet. General Lincoln, who 
commanded our detachment, chanced to spy me, and 
stopped to say : — 

“ ‘ This work ’s too hard for you, my lad. Get to your 
tent and have a sleep until noon.’ 

“ Three days later I was one of a party detailed to 
carry a redoubt which was enfilading our advanced forces. 
We were led on by the Marquis de Lafayette, and we 
fell upon the enemy like fire from heaven or the other 
place ” — 

A slight bustle near the door told that the parson had 
taken his departure, but the soldier went on, unconscious 
of her offense : — 

“ Oh, I tell you, friends, we have cause to love the 
French, and you LeBarons may be proud of your an- 
cestry ; Lafayette and the Baron de Viomenil were the 
heroes of that splendid assault, and we who followed did 
but move with the impulse of their fiery zeal — oh, it was 
glorious, it was glorious, that rush, — and when the re- 


452 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


doubts were gained, and some of our men, crazed with the 
combat, would have slain unarmed prisoners, the French- 
men interfered and beat them back, showing themselves 
masters of their own tempers and of their soldiers, even 
in the moment of bloody victory. 

“ Well, we got back to Philadelphia, and Robert saw 
Ms sweetheart again, and broke a sixpence with her, and 
bade her a tender farewell till the war should be over 
and he could come back to marry her, and then we went 
into winter-quarters on the Hudson. The next June I 
was one of a party of volunteers to protect the patriot 
citizens of western Massachusetts fro,m the British and 
Tories who molested them. We had a sharp skirmish, 
and I got two wounds, one in the head, to which I con- 
fessed, and one in the leg, which I concealed. Fortu- 
nately, the first was severe enough to send me into the 
hospital, where I contrived to secrete lint and ointment 
enough from the surgeon’s tray to dress the hidden 
wound, after myself extracting the ball ; but it was sorry 
work, sorry work, and as I lay there exhausted and 
fevered I thought a good deal about my mother. 

“ But I soon recovered, and was in more than a dozen 
sharp fights, — did a good deal of scouting, stayed within 
the enemy’s lines to nurse a comrade, and after he died 
had a narrow squeak of it to make my escape, — served 
General Patterson as aid-de-camp during the absence of 
Major Haskell, and lived in the general’s family on 
terms of intimacy. 

“ After peace was proclaimed but not ratified, I got 
leave to go to Philadelphia to visit kind although mis- 
taken friends, but before reaching them was struck down 
by a malignant fever and carried to a hospital. I was 
given up for dead, and lay unconscious for a long time, 


THE WOMAN SOLDIER . 


453 


but finally revived just in time to hear the soldier nurses 
quarreling over my clothes, which they were to divide. 
That provoked me so sorely that I moved my hand and 
said something, but what I know not, for I relapsed at 
once into unconsciousness, and when I awoke found my- 
self in the apartments of Mrs. Parker, the matron of the 
hospital, who raised my head and held a cup to my lips, 
saying, — 

“ ‘ Oh, you foolish girl, how came you here ! * 

“ Dr. Binney was very kind to me, and as soon as I 
could sit up, took me home to his own house, where his 
daughters gave me some clothes and marveled hugely 
at my adventures. Then I went back to General Patter- 
son, who presented Deborah Samson with Robert Shurt- 
liffe’s honorable discharge, and here I am. Cousin 
Samson, my throat is wondrous dry. Have you a mug 
of cider at hand, and may I step out for a breath or two 
of fresh air ? It is a long while since I have lived in 
houses.” 

“ Lyddy, come and help me bring out some cider and 
something stronger, for our friends,” said Mistress Sam- 
son, rising and nodding to her daughter Goodwin. “ It 
seems to me, we all need a little something to revive 
our courage after our cousin’s story.” 

“ I wonder what sort of man has ventured to ask her 
to marry him ? ” suggested William Goodwin, who 
liked to be master in his own house, and as the company 
filled their glasses, a significant smile went round. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY. 

u And you ’ll really go and leave us all, little sister ? ” 

“ Yes, Priscilla, dearly as I love you, I must love my 
husband better ; but oh, Pris, I do love you ! ” And 
Margot’s arms went round her sister’s neck, and her 
bright flower-face hid itself upon the other’s matronly 
kerchief. 

“ And I love my little Margot — our father’s pet and 
darling.” 

“ Oh, Pris, you ’ll tend his grave — you like to go up 
there ; but I don’t dare. It seems — oh, I can’t tell 
how it seems ; but I can’t go up on the hill even to bid 
father’s grave good-by, and that little Margaret that 
died, and lies next to mother, — it always seems as if it 
might have been me. I can’t bear to see Margaret 
LeBaron on a gravestone.” 

“ Yet Margaret Montarnaud must some day have a 
grave,” suggested Priscilla, reprovingly. 

“ Oh, don’t ! How can you, Pris, just the last day 
I ’m with you ! ” 

And the little thing began to sob and cling like a 
limpet to her sister’s neck. 

“ My pet, do you remember what our sister Betty said 
to you when she was here at father’s funeral ? ” 

“No — that is — I don’t know ” — 

“ She tried to make you see that now you are woman 
grown, and have married ” — 


OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY. 455 


“ Not yet a day married ! ” 

“ Still you are married, Madame de Montarnaud, 
and, as Betty said, it hardly becomes a woman old 
enough to be a wife to cherish the follies of a child. 
You must learn to face the hard things, and the rough 
things, and the painful things of life, Margaret, for they 
will come to you, as they come to all of us — every one. 
Oh, sweet little sister, darling pet, my precious Margot, 
you know how I, how all of us, would shield you if we 
could ; but we cannot, child, we cannot, — the dark 
things of life will come to you ” — 

“ Philip, Philip ! ” cried the young wife, breaking 
from her sister’s arms and rushing into those of her hus- 
band, who, coming in at the open door, paused in amaze- 
ment at the Niobean group before him, for Priscilla was 
crying softly, even as she exhorted to courage. 

u Oh, Phil, Pris is saying I ’ve got to be unhappy and 
wretched, and see things I don’t want to, and cry — I 
don’t want to, Phil — I don’t want to. And I can’t go 
up on the Hill again — I’m afraid to.” 

“ There, there, Mignonne ! there, there ! Hide thy 
curly head here, and close thine eyes tight, so as to see 
no — what is it now ? — no boo-a-boo.” 

And at his queer pronunciation of the word, Margot 
lifted her head and laughed until the tears yet upon her 
cheeks found wells in the dimples, and one looked for a 
rainbow, so brightly did the sun shine through the 
shower. 

“ Oh, there ’s Mercy Watson — I must speak to her 
once more,” cried she, before the laugh was done, and 
out at the door she sped, leaving her husband and sister 
face to face. 

“ You will be very patient with her, Philip ! She is 
a petted child, rather than a responsible woman.” 


456 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ Fear nothing, dear good sister. I understand her 
perfectly — perfectly. She is not like you or Madame 
Robbins, or the others. She took none of her nature 
from the respectable Rock down there.” 

And the Frenchman bowed with a courteous wave of 
his hat. 

“ She is not at all of New England ; oh, not at all ; 
but she is French of the French. She loves beauty, and 
sunshine, and music, and flowers, and laughter ; and the 
other things, they — ah ! they pain her, they wound 
her, as the brush to scrub with would wound her so 
charming little rose-leaf hands. And yet, my sister, if 
the occasion came, — if she had a baby in her arms, and 
a savage approached, would she drop it and flee ? Not 
at all, not at all ! not so quickly as that brave Amazon 
whose story I hear from all of you. That one has her 
courage, no doubt, but Margot has a finer courage, — the 
courage of good blood, of good birth, of honor and of 
chivalry, of nobility, — the one is the mastiff, who flies 
at the throat of a house-breaker ; the other is the hum- 
ming-bird, that darts fearlessly in the face of man or 
woman if her nest is threatened. Ah, Madame Pris- 
cilla, I know my Margot better than you do, and I am 
well content ; yes, and she shall be content, I do prom- 
ise you on the faith of a gentleman, by my mother’s 
grave, by my hopes of eternity.” 

“ Well, Philip, if you are content, and if you will 
make her happy, I have no more to say. It is true 
enough that she is unlike the rest of us, and I think our 
father and she were perhaps nearer to each other than — 
than — some others ; but she is very, very dear to me.” 

“ And to me, sister,” with which astonishing announce- 
ment Monsieur de Montarnaud took his sister-in-law by 


OVER THE HILLS AND FAR A WAY. 457 


the hand and lightly kissed her on each cheek, a cere- 
mony witnessed by two persons coming in at opposite 
doors. 

“ Here, here ! Who ’s kissing my wife ? ” exclaimed 
Abraham Hammatt, from one side, and, — 

“ Now, now ! That ’s my husband, if you please, Mrs. 
Hammatt, and not yours ! ” cried Margot, and then, 
dancing up to her brother-in-law, she held up a soft 
round cheek, saying, “ And perhaps, Aby, you ’d better 
kiss me a little, just to make things square.” 

u With all the pleasure in life, my dear, and not the 
first time, either.” 

Four-and-twenty hours later a little group of friends 
stood on Cole’s Hill, watching a ship called La Heine 
Blanche, bound toward Bordeaux from Plymouth, make 
her stately way out of the harbor. On the deck a slen- 
der girl clung to her husband’s arm, and sobbed, and 
sobbed, and wiped her eyes, and held the handkerchief 
above her head, and cried incoherent good-bys, and 
wild words of farewell, that the wind bore away to the 
laughing and dimpling sea beyond the Gurnet, which 
seemed to say, “ Oh, she will smile and laugh with me 
ere long,” and on the shore a grave, sweet woman, 
comely and young, yet steadfast and restrained, stood, 
and waved her handkerchief, while the tears ran quietly 
down her cheeks and fell upon the dust that covered 
Katharine Carver’s head. 

“ There, they ’ve rounded Beach Point, and are stand- 
ing out. Come, wife, ’t is ill luck to watch them out of 
sight,” said Abraham Hammatt, and Priscilla, the sup- 
pressed emotion of her heart suddenly surging over its 
bounds, pressed both hands to her heart and flung them 
seaward, crying : — 


458 DR. LeBARON and his daughters. 


“ Oh, God bless you ! God in heaven bless you, my 
little sister ! ” 

And that night there were fresh flowers on the grave 
of Lazarus LeBaron, laid there with the whispered 
words : — 

“ Margot says good-by, dear ! ” 


APPENDIX. 


CAPTAIN SAMSON’S PETITION TO THE PROVINCIAL 
CONGRESS. 1 

Hallifax Harbor on Board the Gard Ship. 

January , 20 th, 1777. 

Gentlemen, — I take this Oppertunity to Inform you 
with my misforten of being taken which happen* on the 25 
of November Last, being then 6 or 7 Leagues Distance to 
the Southward of Cape Sables att 4 o’Clock p. m., fell in with 
the Sloop of War Called the Hope of 16 Guns upwards of 
100 Men, Command by George Dawson, and the Nancy 
Transport with 16 Guns & 60 men, they being Bound from 
this Port to fort Cumberland in the Bay of fonday. I soon 
came to Action with the Hope, the Nancy lying att the Dis- 
tance of half a mile. But the Officer on Board the Nancy 
Seeing me attack the Hope Closely for more than one Hour 
Came up and ingage* me on the Larboard Quarter at the 
Same time the Hope on my Starboard Beam. The Action 
continue* aBout 3 Glasses, But finding my Self over Mach* 
By the two, my Riggnin & Sales in a Shattard Condision & 
in a miserable Situation I thought most Prudent to Sheare of 
which I Did But the Enemy out Sale 8 me came up & after 
making a running Fight for Sometime was under the Dis- 
agreeable Nicsaty of Submitting. 

I had some men kill* in the Engagement, and 7 wounded, 
2 of whom nave Since Dye* with There Wounds, the Lose of 
the Enemy is at presant unsartain. the 6 Instant the Ship 
that I was a Board of in the Bay of funday arriv* at this 
Port & the 8 th I was put on Board this Ship with the most 
of my Crew, whare I met with a number of my Brother 
1 Page 336. 


460 DR. LeBARON AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 


Countrymen that have unhapaly fell in to the hands of our 
Cruel Enemies. 

We are all in Number on Board 100 and in General in a 
Deplorable Situation, having Been robbed off most of our 
Clothing By the Different Ships we ware taken by. one of 
my men was Froze to Death the 13 th inst & there is about 
40 more froze Some Badly 4 Sent to the Hospittle wone of 
which So Badly froze tis thought he will Loos Both his Leggs, 
the Ship we are a Board of is ould open & Leaky, it is the 
Enclemency of the Season, are short of Provisions and Nes- 
saray 8 of Life Shant think Strange if many of us Should not 
Survive until the Opning of the Spring Except Some mea- 
thod Can be taken to Exchange prisners this matter I Beg 
your Honours will take into Consideration and that a Nego- 
siation may take place as soon as possible, this matter I refer 
to a pertition we have all Ready Sent you from this Ship. 

Gentlemen I am with Grate Asteem your Most Obed* 
Humble Servant att Command Sim" Samson 

N. B. The Brig 6 Independence is not arrived in this port 
as yet — & I flatter myself she has Return* 1 to the State She 
Belon 8 to 

To this letter is appended the following hint as to the 
action of Congress upon our hero’s simple and manly appeal. 

In the house of Representatives Feb. 7, 1777. 

Read and thereupon Ordered that the Council be desired 
to take the Same into Consideration & Endeavour to procure 
the Officers & Seamen prisoners in the State of New Hamp- 
shire & Collect those in this State and send them in a Flagg 
to Hallifax for the purpose of redeeming Capt. Samson 
his Officers & Company & as many others now prisoners 
there as can be. Sent up for Concurrence 

J. Warren spkr. 

And J. Warren, Speaker, was James Warren of Plymouth, 
late partner in the firm of Goodwin & Warren, Captain 
Samson’s first owners. 



























































































































































































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